"Tell me the truth: Do you notice any change in me?"
"Yes, I do," answered the singer, looking at the cantor, and seeing how pale and thin he was. "A very great change——"
"Now I see you are an honest man, you tell me the truth to my face. Do you know when it began?"
"It will soon be a month," answered the singer.
"Yes, brother, a month, a month, but I felt—"
The cantor wiped off the perspiration that covered his forehead, and continued:
"And you think, Yössel, that it's lost now, for good and all?"
"That what is lost?" asked Yössel, beginning to be aware that the conversation turned on something quite different from what was in his own mind.
"What? How can you ask? Ah? What should I lose? Money? I have no money—I mean—of course—my voice."
Then Yössel understood everything—he was too much of a musician not to understand. Looking compassionately at the cantor, he asked: