His pilot descended to the great courtyard, and Karenin assisted by his secretary clambered down through the wing fabric and made his way to the officials who came out to receive him.

In this place, beyond infections and noise and any distractions, surgery had made for itself a house of research and a healing fastness.  The building itself would have seemed very wonderful to eyes accustomed to the flimsy architecture of an age when power was precious.  It was made of granite, already a little roughened on the outside by frost, but polished within and of a tremendous solidity.  And in a honeycomb of subtly lit apartments, were the spotless research benches, the operating tables, the instruments of brass, and fine glass and platinum and gold.  Men and women came from all parts of the world for study or experimental research.  They wore a common uniform of white and ate at long tables together, but the patients lived in an upper part of the buildings, and were cared for by nurses and skilled attendants....

The first man to greet Karenin was Ciana, the scientific director of the institution.  Beside him was Rachel Borken, the chief organiser.  ’You are tired?’ she asked, and old Karenin shook his head.

‘Cramped,’ he said.  ‘I have wanted to visit such a place as this.’

He spoke as if he had no other business with them.

There was a little pause.

‘How many scientific people have you got here now?’ he asked.

‘Just three hundred and ninety-two,’ said Rachel Borken.

‘And the patients and attendants and so on?’

‘Two thousand and thirty.’

‘I shall be a patient,’ said Karenin.  ’I shall have to be a patient.  But I should like to see things first.  Presently I will be a patient.’

‘You will come to my rooms?’ suggested Ciana.

‘And then I must talk to this doctor of yours,’ said Karenin.  ’But I would like to see a bit of this place and talk to some of your people before it comes to that.’

He winced and moved forward.

‘I have left most of my work in order,’ he said.

‘You have been working hard up to now?’ asked Rachel Borken.

’Yes.  And now I have nothing more to do—­and it seems strange....  And it’s a bother, this illness and having to come down to oneself.  This doorway and the row of windows is well done; the gray granite and just the line of gold, and then those mountains beyond through that arch.  It’s very well done....’

Section 2

Karenin lay on the bed with a soft white rug about him, and Fowler, who was to be his surgeon sat on the edge of the bed and talked to him.  An assistant was seated quietly in the shadow behind the bed.  The examination had been made, and Karenin knew what was before him.  He was tired but serene.

‘So I shall die,’ he said, ‘unless you operate?’

Fowler assented.  ‘And then,’ said Karenin, smiling, ’probably I shall die.’