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Lady with a Veil
He noticed her immediately. The only woman in a typically masculine place, she stood out and arrested sights like a fragrant rose towering over a dunghill. On the one hand, the presence of a lady, and, furthermore, alone, and, furthermore, in such a place, and, furthermore, at this late hour, and, furthermore, dressed in clothes, which, along with her manner, gave away her noble origin, should at least cause him confusion mixed with wariness. But the frantic cry of the heart is often so powerful that it drowns out the sly whisper of the mind.
Well, she was here and let her; it was not the reasons that matter, but the prospects. That’s how the man could formulate his thoughts at the moment when he saw her (or something like this plus sentimental husk). And he was not even alarmed that none of those present glanced in her direction. Such a woman was supposed to win hearts and turn heads. But instead, the rare visitors of the Artist’s Shelter Pub sat in tight circles, smoked, drank, and, without being shy by the presence of the noble lady, had their vulgar conversations, relating mainly to topics that were fairly mundane.
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Several people at the tables next to him cast surprised looks but immediately lost interest, returning to the interrupted discussions about their intercourse, the current state of affairs in the country and the sexual preferences of the authorities responsible for all this.
Meanwhile, the lady behind the veil did not react to the question at all, so after waiting for some time and interpreting silence as a sign of consent, the artist took a vacant seat opposite to her and called the waiter.
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