he doesn't, no one will profit by his fall, neither he nor the devil."
"So that's how it is!" said the miller, staring nervously at the sky, in which the moon was shining with all its might. The heavens were clear; only one little cloudlet like a bit of black down was flying swiftly along between the moon and the wood that shrouded the river bank. It was a cloud, of course, but one thing about it seemed strange to the miller. Not a breath of wind was stirring, the leaves on the bushes were motionless as if in a trance, and yet the cloud was flying like a bird straight toward the city.
"Come here; let me show you something!" the miller called to the servant.
Kharko came out of the inn, and leaning against the door post, said calmly:
"Well, what is it? A fine thing you have found to show me! That's a cloud, that is; let it alone!"
"Take another look at it! Is there any wind blowing?"
"Well, well, well! That is funny!" said the servant, perplexed. "It's making straight for the city, too."
And both men scratched their heads and craned their necks.
The same humming sounds came to their ears through the window as before; the miller caught a glimpse of lugubrious yellow faces, closed eyes, and
