The loud barking of dogs announced his proximity to the mills and the millers’ homestead on the Oława, which meant that it was only five-score paces to the bridge leading straight to the city. He passed along the causeway between the millponds and fishponds. He slowed his pace, for it was much darker among the sheds and barns, but he could already see the river shimmering in the moonlight. He sighed with relief. But speeded up, nonetheless.

The thicket rustled and a shade, an elusive shape, loomed in the shadows by the barn. Father Felicjan’s heart leaped and constricted his throat. In spite of that, the altarist put the hand cannon under his arm and brought the glowing fuse to the pan. However, the darkness and his lack of experience meant that he brought it against his own thumb.

He howled like a wolf, hopped like a hare and dropped the firearm. He didn’t manage to draw the short sword. He was struck on the head and tumbled into a snowdrift. While he was being tied up and dragged over the snow he was stunned and lay limp, but quite conscious. He only fainted a moment later. From fear.

In recent times, Reynevan had no reason to complain about a surfeit of good luck or fortunate incidents. Fate had by no means treated him kindly in this regard. Quite the contrary. Since the previous December, Reynevan had decidedly more cause to be worried and gloomy than joyful and euphoric.

So, he greeted the change with even greater joy, for things had begun to improve. All of a sudden, fortune began to shine on him and events to arrange themselves in a rather pleasant sequence. Quite reasonable hope had dawned, his prospects had become somewhat radiant and both his and Jutta’s future presented itself in much more vivid and pleasing colours. The dismally bare and misshapen trees by the Wrocław road seemed to be cloaked in the fresh green of foliage; the grim and snow-covered wildernesses of the meadows and wetlands outside Wrocław appeared to be carpeted in a variety of sweet-smelling blossom; and the cawing of the crows pecking the frozen earth sounded like sweet birdsong. In a word, it looked as if spring had come.