They were also extremely disappointed because the portress had no story to tell and would not hear of letting them in; and they variously described her afterwards as Cerberus, Argus, and the Angel of the Flaming Sword, which things agree not well together.

The portress had a busy morning, even after Doctor Pieri had come and had written out a bulletin which she could show to all comers as an official statement of the injured man's condition.
The great surgeon and the Mother Superior sat on opposite sides of his bed, and now that the sun had risen high the blinds were half drawn together and hooked in the old-fashioned Roman way, to keep out some of the light, while the glass was left open.

A broad stripe of sunshine fell across the counterpane below Giovanni's knees, and a sharp twittering and a rushing of wings broke the stillness every few seconds, as the circling swallows flew past the half-open window.
'So you refuse to undergo the operation ?' Pieri said, after a long pause.

'Is that your last word?
Shall I go away and leave you to die ?' 'How long will that take ?' asked Giovanni calmly.
'Probably from four to ten days, according to circumstances,' replied the surgeon.
'Say a week, more or less.

Will it hurt much ?' 'Not unless you have lockjaw, which is possible.