And one moonshiny night Petrin the boatman had seen from the river a most strange, glistening creature flying along the shore.
"A bicycle," pronounced old Joachin, beating his empty pipe against the palm of his hand.
"Oh, very well! Then your white dog was just a white dog!"
Presently the party arrived at the mill. The miller came forward, all smiles, and stretched out his hand to Regina.
"Ma benissimo! This is an honour, Signora Regina! I know you well; and here is my wife, who knows you quite well too!"
The ruddy young woman hung back shyly.
"How do you do?" said Regina, looking at her curiously. She noticed that the miller was not quite so old nor the woman so young as they had seemed from the distance.
The inside of the mill was very clean. A fire was burning at the foot of the plank bed. Pots and pans of red earthenware were arranged on the dresser. The mechanism of the mill was of the most primitive pattern. Two large, round stones of a bluish hue were revolving one upon the other, moved by the wheel. The flour slipped out slowly, falling into a sack.
And the wheel turned and turned, pursued, battered, lashed by the noisy water. Wheel and water seemed to be whirling in a fight, merry in appearance, pitiless and cruel in reality.
Old Joachin took his wife by the shoulder and shook her.