Finally, on the left, immediately to the left of the two priests who stood silently looking, fifty feet below, ran the sweep of the Gave, crossed by innumerable bridges which gave access to the crowding town beyond the water, where once had been nothing but meadowland and the beginning of the great southern plain of France.

There was an air of extraordinary peace and purity about this place, thought Monsignor. Whiteness was the predominating colour--whiteness beneath, and whiteness running up high on the right on to the hills--and above the amazing blue of the southern sky. It was high and glorious summer about them, with a breeze as intoxicating as wine and as fresh as water. From across the Place they could hear the quick flapping of the huge Mary banner that flew above the hall, for there were no wheels or motors here to crush out the acuteness of the ear. The transference of the sick from the hostels above the town was carried out by aeroplanes--great winged decks, with awnings above and at the sides, that slid down as if on invisible lines, to the entrance of the other side of the hall, whence after a daily examination by the doctors they were taken on by hand-litters to the grotto or the bathing-pools.

Monsignor heard a step behind him as he stood and looked, still pathetically bewildered by all that he saw, and still struggling, in spite of himself, with a new upbreak of scepticism; and turning, saw Father Jervis in the act of greeting a young monk in the Benedictine habit.

"I knew we should meet. I heard you were here," the old man was exclaiming. "You remember Monsignor Masterman?"

They shook hands, and Monsignor was not disappointed in his friend's tact.

"Father Adrian absolutely haunts Lourdes nowadays," went on Father Jervis. "I wonder his superiors allow him. And how's the book getting on?"

The monk smiled. He was an exceedingly pleasant person to look upon, with a thin, refined face and large, startlingly blue eyes.

He shook his head as he smiled.

"I'm getting frightened," he said. "I cannot see with the theologians in all points. Well, the least said, the soonest mended."

Father Jervis' face had fallen a little. There was distinct anxiety in his eyes.

"When will the book be out?" he asked quickly.

"I'm revising for the last time," said the other shortly. "And you, Monsignor? . . . I had heard of your illness."

"Oh, Monsignor's nearly himself again. And will you take us into the Bureau?" asked the old priest.

The young monk nodded.

"I shall be there all day," he said. "Ask for me at any time."

"Monsignor wants to see for himself. He wants to see a case straight through. Is there anything----"

"Why, there's the very thing," interrupted the monk. (He fumbled in his pocket a moment.) "Yes, here's the leaflet that was issued last night." (He held out a printed piece of paper to Monsignor.) "Read that through."

The prelate took it.

"What's the case?" he asked.

"The leaflet will give you the details. It's decay of the optic nerve--a Russian from St. Petersburg. Both eyes completely blind, the nerves destroyed, and he saw light yesterday for the first time. He'll be down from the Russian hospice about eleven. We expect a cure to-day or to-morrow."

"Well," said Father Jervis, "we mustn't detain you. Then, if we look in about eleven?"

The monk nodded and smiled as he moved off.

"Certainly," he said. "At eleven then."

Monsignor turned to his friend.

"Well?"

Father Jervis shook his head.

"It's a sad business," he said. "That's Dom Adrian Bennett. He's very daring. He's had one warning from Rome; but he's so extraordinarily clever that it's very hard to silence him. He's not exactly heretical; but he will work along lines that have already been decided."

"Dear me! He seems very charming."

"Certainly. He is most charming, and utterly sincere. He's got the entree everywhere here. He is a first-rate scientist, by the way.

But, Monsignor, I'd sooner not talk about him. Do you mind?"

"But what's his subject? Tell me that."

"It's the miraculous element in religion," said the priest shortly. "Come, we must go to our coffee."

(III)

The hall was already crowded in every part as the two priests looked in at the lower end a few minutes before eleven o'clock.

It was arranged more or less like a theatre, with a broad gangway running straight up from the doors at one end to the foot of the stage at the other. The stage itself, with a statue of Mary towering at the back, communicated with the examination-rooms behind the two doors, one on either side of the image.

"What's going on?" whispered Monsignor, as he glanced up first on this side and that, at the array of heads that listened, and then at the two figures that occupied the stage.

"It's a doctor lecturing on a cure. This goes on nearly all day.

We must get round to the back somehow."

As they pa.s.sed in at last from the outside through the private door through which the doctors and privileged persons had access behind the stage, they heard a storm of clapping and voices from the direction of the public hall on their right.

"That's finished then. Follow me, Monsignor."

They went through a pa.s.sage or two, after their guide--a young man in uniform--seeing as they went, through half-open doors here and there, quite white rooms, glimpses of men in white, and once at least a litter being set down; and came at last into what looked like some kind of committee-room, lighted by tall windows on the left, with a wide horseshoe table behind which sat perhaps a dozen men, each wearing on his left breast the red and white cross which marked them as experts. Opposite the examiners, but half hidden from the two priests by the back of his tall chair, sat the figure of a man.

Their guide went up to the end of the table, and almost immediately they saw Father Adrian stand up and beckon to them.

"I've kept you two chairs," he whispered when they came up. "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.