Baroness and Cossacks

I went to the electric shop for a lamp.
Within the people there were a few, five people in all, but only two of them can be called characters. The first character is a lady (with, not by age, straight back) standing at the box office. Running forward, I admit that I envy her friends and acquaintances, because they have the opportunity and pleasure to communicate with such an extraordinary person. Dressed she was shameless and somewhat old-fashioned: a dark dress to the floor, a silver brochure, a small riddle, a ring cloth in her hand and a hairstyle like the lady from the Chekhov stories. In the theatre hall, no one would pay attention to it, but in the electric goods store, it looked like a wooden rope in Silicon Valley. The age of the lady was difficult to determine, maybe 61, or all 79. The hell knows her. In one thing I now have no doubt that she has a secret family recipe, according to which she makes a tincture and takes it one teaspoon on an empty stomach, every two hundred years.

The second prominent character in the store was a bearded Cossack studying a window with wires. The Cossack was dressed simply and with taste: shoes, a sporting suit, and on his head a carakle hat-cube. On the street was hot under thirty, so the face of the Cossacks from under the hat flowed courageous streams of sweat.
The cashier for some reason for a short time got out of the box and the turn spread throughout the store. There is only a mysterious lady left.
I approached her and asked:

Are you in the box? I will be after you.

She sneered and, pointing to the side of the Cossacks, replied:

- I have to warn you that the gentleman in the winter hat was behind me.

Everyone in the store exploded with a wild whistle, including me.
Kazak was obviously offended, he pulled his chest forward and said strictly:

My grandmother is not your winter hat, I am a Cossacks!

The lady pretended to be surprised and replied:

Who could think? and Kazak. What a sweet coincidence, your nobility, you are a Cossacks and I am a Baroness.
I am a Cossacks without coincidence. I understand!? I can’t see anything on the hat.? to
“Well, don’t get angry, pigeon, on the hat, so on the hat, Cossacks, so Cossacks. But I am older than you in age and rank, so I will allow myself to give you a little life advice: if you suddenly get bored of being a Cossack and you want to be called, say, a pearl hunter, then one swimming cap will not be enough, you will still have to dive for a pearl.

A man in a winter hat spotted the lady with a glance, splintered inside and, without waiting for the cashier, proudly left the store, lying with invisible spurs on his shoes.