Another day we arranged to visit the “Couvent des Bernardines.” This cold grey building is situated some miles off from Biarritz and seems to be shut away from all sounds of the world. From afar the dull sound of a bell was heard, denoting every half-hour the change of the nun on duty. Over the entrance door we saw a plate with the inscription to speak in a low voice when entering the cloister. We saw the nuns walking about two and two, shadowy white-robed women with black hoods that hid their downcast faces. There are many young girls belonging to the best French and Spanish families amongst them. Poor recluses who have taken their vows for eternal silence which would separate them from earthly love for ever. A defiance to natural laws I call it! The “Bernardines” are permitted to converse with their parents for half-an-hour once a year only. I wonder how they could preserve the gift of speech being deprived of it such a long time! A sad-faced lay sister ushered us into a large parlour with long windows and a polished floor. On the walls hung framed texts and coloured prints of the Virgin and Saints. We were shown all over the monastery and saw over the doors of the cells placards bearing the inscription, “God alone!” It was a very hard life in that Order, and silence was everywhere in this house of silence. In church even the nuns are hidden behind a curtain. A pine wood separates the cloister from the convent of the “Servantes de Marie,” where the nuns lead quite a different sort of life, working with their tongues just as well as with their hands. They are very industrious, do carpentry and photography and cultivate their flower gardens. The rainy season was coming on. It was time to leave Biarritz and proceed to the country of “Carmen.” From Biarritz the distance to the Spanish frontier is short. At Irun, the first Spanish station, we saw policemen wearing short black mantles and triangular hats, walking up and down the platform. After San Sebastiano, a picturesque town surrounded by fortifications, our train rolled along a curving road winding at the foot of the Pyrenees, vividly outlined on the deep blue sky. Just as we were preparing to arrange ourselves comfortably for our night’s rest, travellers charged with parcels entered our compartment. A miserable child, who was cutting his first tooth, made us pass a bad night. Luckily I was not a bit sleepy, and leaning on the window I enjoyed the beautiful night, the moon and stars shining out gloriously. CHAPTER XLII MADRID