The fire died down. Zoska lay down on the bench in her rags and Slimak went into the alcove. He sat on the bed, determined to be on the watch. He did not know that this strange state of mind is called 'nerves'. Yet a kind of relief had come in with Zoska; she had driven away the spectre of Maciek and the child. But an iron ring was beginning to press on his head. This was sleep, heavy sleep, the companion of great anguish. He dreamt that he was split in two; one part of him was sitting by his sick wife, the other was Maciek, standing outside the window, where sunflowers bloomed in the summer. This new Maciek was unlike the old one, he was gloomy and vindictive. 'Don't believe,' said the strange guest, 'that I shall forgive you. It's not so much that I got frozen, that might happen to anyone the worse for drink, but you drove me away for no fault of mine after I had served you so long. And what harm had the child done to you? Don't turn away! Pass judgment on yourself for what you have done. God will not let these wrongs be done and keep silent.' 'What shall I say?' thought Slimak, bathed in perspiration. 'He is telling the truth, I am a scoundrel. He shall fix the punishment, perhaps he will get it over quickly.' His wife moved and he opened his eyes, but closed them again. A rosy brightness filled the room, the frost glittered in flowers on the window panes. 'Daylight?' he thought. No, it was not daylight, the rosy brightness trembled. A smell of burning was heavy in the room. 'Fire?' He looked into the room; Zoska had disappeared. 'I knew it!' he exclaimed, and ran out into the yard. His house was indeed on fire; the roof towards the highroad was alight, but owing to the thick layers of snow the flames spread but slowly; he could still have saved the house, but he did not even think of this. 'Get up, Jagna,' he cried, running back into the alcove, 'the house is on fire!' 'Leave me alone,' said the delirious woman, covering her head with the sheepskin. He seized her and, stumbling over the threshold, carried her into the shed, fetched her clothes and bedding, broke open the chest and took out his money; finally he threw everything he could lay hands on out of the window. Here was at least something tangible to fight. The whole roof was now ablaze; smoke and flames were coming into the room from the boarded ceiling. He was dragging the bench through the brightly illuminated yard when he happened to look at the barn; he stood petrified. Flames were licking at it, and there stood Zoska shaking her clenched fist at him and shouting: 'That's my thanks to you, Slimak, for taking care of my child, now you shall die as she did!' She flew out of the yard and up the hill; he could see her by the light of the fire, dancing and clapping her hands. 'Fire, fire!' she shouted.