The storm raged for three days. Giant waves rolled upon the sandy beach. Even after the storm began to abate, people did not dare show their noses outside their houses. Only one man — people in the village called him the miller — ventured to visit the shore and stand up to the wind.

His attention was attracted by a man of huge proportions wearing a lion's skin who was walking up and down beside the waves. A dog the size of a bull lollowed him. The miller took fright, and hid in the bushes. 
Then he saw a woman in a white tunic, radiant, beautiful as a goddess, walking towards the giant. She approached and bowed low to him, and said distinctly. 
"Welcome Melkart."
The miller realised then that he was seeing god Melkart himself, with a dog from the nether world. 
"Welcome, Tyro," Melkart replied, and placed his huge hand on the nymph's shoulder (Nymph, the embodiment of Nature, especially of water sources).
It seemed the nymph did not feel its weight. She turned her radiant face up to his. And the joy of seeing him shone in her blue eyes. 
Engrossed in each other, the god and the nymph saw nothing around them. The miller realised that he could hope to survive. All he feared was the dog: dogs had such a strong sense of smell. But the wind was blowing from the sea. 
The dog followed in his master's footsteps, sniffing the ground. Suddenly, it seized something. The miller heard the sound of something cracking, and at once the dog began howling from pain. Melkart and Tyro turned round. The dog was rolling on the ground, evidently with a bone stuck in its throat. To help the animal, Melkart opened its jaws, and the miller saw from the distance that its mouth was blood-red. 
"What a beautiful colour!" the nymph exclaimed. 
Melkart said nothing. He was striking the dog's neck, until it swallowed the object that had stuck in its throat. 
"Melkart," the nymph said coyly, "I want a tunic of that colour." 
Melkart grumbled. His grumbling was louder than a lion's roar. He began col- lecting something on the beach. 
Some time passed, and he said to the nymph: 
"Take off your tunic!" 
The miller closed his eyes. He knew a mortal who saw a nymph naked turned to stone. There were many curious fools, he thought, remembering all the rocks he had seen whose outlines reminded him of human figures 
When the miller finally had the courage to open his eyes, Melkart and the nymph and also the dog, were some distance away. The nymph was wearing a tunic the colour of sundawn.
There were no footprints in the sand: gods leave no footprints But here and there the miller saw crushed seashells.
"So that was what the dog had crushed," the miller concluded. "That was what Melkart had collected." 
The miller ran to the shore and collected seashells thrown up by the sea. When he had a few big piles, he went home for sacks. People who came out on the shore, for by that time the storm had ceased, pointed their fingers at him, and laughed: "Look, our miller has lost his senses. He is collecting useless seashells." 
The miller took the sacks full of seashells home. Then, he began collecting all the clothes he could find in the house. He took all this to the mill. 
His wife wept. 
"Why did you go to the shore before the storm ended?" she wailed. "Evil spirits have invaded you." 
"Father, give us back our clothes," his daughters pleaded. 
"Shut your mouths," he shouted. 
Those were the first words he had spoken that day. But the women would not give up. They watched through a crack in the door as he harnessed his mules and then helped them to turn the millstones. The sound was not the same as usual. It was as though nuts were being milled instead of grain. 
"He's milling seashells!" The elder daughter guessed.
 "Why is he doing it?" the middle daughter asked. 
"He wants to make flour from them," the youngest said. 
The miller's wife said nothing. She only wept. 
Then the millstones stopped turning. They heard the miller unharness the mules. Then the door opened and the miller emerged from the mill. His bare arms were red right up to the elbows. 
The daughters took flight in fear. His wife shouted: 
"Why did you kill the mules, you wretch? Who will turn the millstones now?" 
"I did not kill them, you funny woman," the miller replied merrily. "I made dye and have dyed your clothes with it. Come, I need your help." 
Within an hour, tunics of previously unseen colours were hung out on ropes to dry. Some were the colour of the evening sun as it dipped into the sea. Others, which had less dye, were the colour of violets. The entire village came to look at the miller's handiwork. No, he was not mad. He had learned to make dye out of seashells. 
"Sell me this one," said the youngest wife of the village elder, pointing at a violet tunic. 
"You haven't enough money to pay for it," the miller said. "Each of these tunics costs its weight in gold." 
"Sell it, you fool," the miller's wife exclaimed. Who will ever pay you so much money?" 
"Kings will," the miller replied, laughing. "The kings of Egypt, of Babylonia, the King of the Hittites, and the kings of those who call themselves Hellenes. The secret of the dye was given me by Melkart, and is worthy of kings alone."

Alexander Nemirovsky, "Tales Of The Ancient World"

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