"And you'd better wear these crosses.

They'll admit you anywhere." (He pointed to the two red and white badges that hung over the backs of their chairs.) "Are we in time ?" "You're a little late," whispered the monk.

Then he turned again towards the patient, a typical fair-haired, bearded Russian with closed eyes, who at that moment was answering some question put to him by the presiding doctor in the centre.
The monk turned again.
"Can you understand Russian ?" Monsignor shook his head.
"Well, I'll tell you afterwards," said the other.
* * * * * It seemed very strange to be sitting here, in this quiet room, after the rush and push of the enormous crowds through which they had made their way this morning.

The air of the room was exceedingly business-like, and not in the least even suggestive of religion, except in the matter of a single statue of Our Lady of Lourdes on a bracket on the wall above the President's head.
And these dozen men who sat here seemed quietly business-like too.

They sat here, men of various ages and nationalities, all in the thin white doctor's dress, with papers spread before them, and a few strange instruments scattered here and there, leaning forward or leaning back, but all intently listening to and watching the Russian, who, still with closed eyes, answered the short questions put to him continuously by the President.