This was a woman, or, speaking more correctly, a retired wench, whose like can be found only in the south of Russia; neither a Pole nor a Little Russian; already sufficiently old and rich in order to allow herself the luxury of maintaining a husband (and together with him a cabaret), a handsome and kindly little Pole. Horizon and Barsukova met like old friends. They had, it seemed, no fear, no shame, no conscience when they conversed with each other.
“Madam Barsukova! I can offer you something special! Three women: one a large brunette, very modest; another a little one, a blonde, but who, you understand, is ready for everything; the third is a woman of mystery, who merely smiles and doesn’t say anything, but promises much and is a beauty!”
Madam Barsukova was gazing at him with mistrust, shaking her head.
“Mister Horizon! What are you trying to fill my head with? Do you want to do the same with me that you did last time?”
“By God, I should live so, how I want to deceive you! But that’s not the main thing. I’m also offering you a perfectly educated woman. Do with her what you like. In all probability you’ll find a connoisseur.”
Barsukova smiled artfully and asked:
“Again a wife?”
“No. But she’s of the nobility.”
“Then that means unpleasantnesses with the police again?”
“Ach! My God! I don’t take big money from you; all the three for a lousy thousand roubles.”