In which, after leaving the Benedictine monastery, Scharley lectures Reynevan about his existential philosophy, which can be reduced to the theory that you only need to drop your trousers and look the other way for some unkind person to have a go at you. A moment later, life confirms his arguments in every detail. Scharley is saved from trouble by somebody the reader already knows—or, rather, thinks they know.

The exorcism in the Benedictine abbey—although in principle crowned by success—further deepened Reynevan’s dislike of Scharley, which had been increasing from day one and intensified after the incident with the beggar. Reynevan now understood he was dependent on the penitent’s assistance and that without him, attempting to free his beloved Adèle by himself had slim chance of success. Understanding his dependence was one thing, but the dislike remained, nagging him like a torn fingernail or a chipped tooth, and Scharley’s behaviour only deepened it.

A dispute flared up the evening after they left the monastery, when they were but a short distance from Świdnica. Paradoxically, Reynevan was recalling Scharley’s exorcistic mischief and reproaching him for it while they consumed gifts obtained through that very mischief. For on parting, the grateful Benedictines had given them a large bundle containing a rye loaf, a dozen apples, a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a ring of smoked juniper sausage and a fat Polish blood pudding.

Our wanderers were sitting on a dry hillside at the edge of a forest, eating and gazing at the sun, which was sinking lower and lower towards the tops of the pine trees. And arguing. Reynevan had raced on somewhat, extolling ethical norms and criticising roguery. Scharley immediately took him down a peg.

“I don’t accept,” he pronounced, spitting out the shell of a badly peeled egg, “moral teachings from someone who is in the habit of screwing other men’s wives.”

“How many more times,” said Reynevan in irritation, “do I have to repeat that it’s not the same? That you can’t compare them?”

“You can, Reinmar, you can.”

“Interesting.”

Scharley pressed the loaf against his belly and cut off another hunk.