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in particular；for in our century it is woman who suffers the most； and in this exile of the cloister there is something of protestation；the female convent has incontestably a certain majesty。
This cloistered existence which is so austere； so depressing； a few of whose features we have just traced； is not life； for it is not liberty； it is not the tomb； for it is not plenitude； it is the strange place whence one beholds； as from the crest of a lofty mountain； on one side the abyss where we are； on the other； the abyss whither we shall go； it is the narrow and misty frontier separating two worlds； illuminated and obscured by both at the same time； where the ray of life which has bee enfeebled is mingled with the vague ray of death； it is the half obscurity of the tomb。
We； who do not believe what these women believe； but who； like them； live by faith；we have never been able to think without a sort of tender and religious terror； without a sort of pity； that is full of envy； of those devoted； trembling and trusting creatures； of these humble and august souls； who dare to dwell on the very brink of the mystery； waiting between the world which is closed and heaven which is not yet open； turned towards the light which one cannot see； possessing the sole happiness of thinking that they know where it is； aspiring towards the gulf； and the unknown； their eyes fixed motionless on the darkness； kneeling； bewildered； stupefied； shuddering； half lifted； at times； by the deep breaths of eternity。