The austerity of our hosts was uncanny. We
stepped to the rail of the porch, amid a foreboding



176 News Hunting on Three Continents

silence. Disquiet took possession of both of us. We
entered the cell, closed the door and, Joubert lighting
a match, examined our dismal quarters. The door,
barely held upright on its rusty hinges, was without
lock or bolt. No means existed of preventing intru-
sion during the night.
We didn't know whether we were in a monastery,
a mad-house or a prison I

Hardly had we surveyed the room when the door
swung inward, and, silhouetted against the gray night
without, stood a figure like the two others we had
seen. Indeed, he might have been either of the two.
He addressed us in Catalonian, then in French, ask-
ing if he could add to our comfort.
'Give us a candle I' we exclaimed, in the same breath.
'Never has there been a light or a fire of any kind
permitted within the walls of this pious retreat,' came
the slow reply, in imperfect French.
'What sort of a place is this?' queried Joubert.
