Karla had engaged her as a singer, and now and then, to the accompaniment of the piano, she sang for the guests in her clear voice. German chansons that had just appeared in the music halls, Czech folk melodies that youths played on harmonicas in front of suburban doorways in the evening. But the allure of her character had nothing to do with these songs.

An unexpected crowd of people had brought Karla’s wine bar into fashion. A shrill gaiety raged here from night until early morning, screaming and stomping and laughing with a full throat. Outside on the street, where the arc light burned, passersby stopped and crowded enviously in the shadows. The mawkish charm of Viennese music called them back after they had gone past, and put the doorknob in their hands. The joy in living that romped in waltz time within caught the lonely in its clutches and pulled them into the circle of light. Some of Karla’s earlier acquaintances also showed up, many of whom had not met since Doctor Konrad’s death. Blonde Ruschena came with a stout, pock-faced painter. She sat in the corner, sipped the sour Austrian wine he lavished on her, and gazed into the air with a vacuous smile. Nikolaus rarely appeared before midnight. He would come from an evening visit, wearing a silk vest and tails, and Karla would set the white-capped champagne before him in a bucket.

It was after a hot day that Severin and Zdenka made their first visit to the black lane. A storm was gathering angrily over the city and both of them were tired. Zdenka was hungry and thirsty, and Severin suggested going to Karla’s. He had read her advertisement in the newspaper and had also heard talk of Mylada in the office. It was still early in the evening and the wine bar was empty except for old Lazarus, who was hunched in the corner, cowering and drunk. He recognized Severin and greeted him with a nod. Mylada was sitting next to him and patiently listening to what he said. Her clear eyes regarded Zdenka with quiet interest, and also brushed her companion with a quick glance. Severin looked into her small gaunt face, spellbound. A frightened opposition had seized him when he came in and saw the book dealer. Now he sat in his chair, motionless and transformed, and incredulously felt the force that heavily and anxiously drove his blood to his heart while he looked at Mylada. An odd, strangely intimate expression in her eyes made him reflect. Zdenka self-consciously stopped talking when she noticed the furrow in his brow, and did not dare to disturb him. Only when Karla entered the room and happily shook his hand did he wake up and collect himself. She sat next to him on the divan and, in whispers, began to speak about Lazarus. Every evening after closing his business, he came here and got drunk. But he did not stay for long. When the theatre had let out and the first guests began to arrive, he went home.

And Karla talked about how he sometimes spoke senselessly in his drunkenness and wept:

He often flapped his arms like a bird that was trying to fly, and cawed like a raven. And then he cried again for his daughter — — —

Severin became pale.