He slept little and arose at dawn. Before going down he stepped to the
window to consult the weather. In stepping back his eyes fell on the
entrance to the cellar. It was open.
Don Rocco went down to the cellar, and came out again with a most
unusual expression. The wine was no longer there. Neither wine nor
cask. But outside there were fresh marks of wheels.
Don Rocco followed these as far as the main road. There they
disappeared. There remained but a short curve from the edge to the
middle of the road into the labyrinth of all the other wheel tracks.
Don Rocco did not think at that time to go in search of the authorities
in order to make a complaint. Ideas came to him very slowly, and
perhaps this particular one would not be due before midday.
On the contrary he returned, wrapped in meditation, to St. Luke. "Those
blows," said he to himself, "that stone thrown! It is fortunate that
the Moro was with me then; otherwise, he would have been suspected." He
went back to the cellar entrance, examined minutely the fractured door,
contemplated the place where the cask had stood, and, scratching his
head, went into the church to repeat some prayers.