Carried away by her ardent charity,ñaltaMartayMarí she likewise wanted to put herself to the test by caring for the sick; above all, for those who were suffering from disgusting diseases. She heard that a woman near her house was suffering from a sore breast, and she made the resolution to go every morning and dress it, and this she instantly put into practice; but at the very first visit, wishing to add what she had read in the history of Saint Catalina, that is, wishing to kiss the sick woman's sore, the loathing and horror which overcame her were so great that she grew faint, became very ill, and Genoveva had to take her in her arms and carry her home.
The poor girl attributed her misfortune not to the feebleness of her stomach, but to her lack of virtue, and she applied herself with increased anxiety to better her life.
Genoveva took part in all these exercises of piety, but rather as her companion and confidential friend than as her maid. She aided her, oftentimes without understanding where she was going to stop, absolutely persuaded that she could not go on the wrong track, for she had blind faith in her señorita's discretion. It was not so much affection which she felt for her, as a species of idolatry in which was mingled admiration for her beauty, respect for her talent, and pride in having seen the birth of a prodigy in the creation of which she had had a share. Maria was unable to arouse in her the mystic enthusiasm which possessed herself, for Genoveva was not of an inflammable nature, and a supine ignorance shielded her from all sorts of enthusiasms; but she succeeded through her acts and religious discourses in awakening in her the fanaticism which is always dormant in the depths of vulgar, ignorant souls.
One night after Maria had retired from the family circle, and Genoveva had left the kitchen, they found themselves in the boudoir in the tower. Maria was reading by the light of her polished iron lamp,[21] while Genoveva was seated in another chair in front of her, engaged in knitting stockings. They often spent an hour or two in this way before going to bed, since the señorita was accustomed of old to read till the small hours of the night.
She did not seem so absorbed in her reading as usual. She often laid the book on the table and remained a long while thoughtful, with her cheek resting in her hand: then she took it up again, only to lay it down very hastily; she was nervous, judging by the creaking of the chair. From time to time she fastened a long gaze on Genoveva in which gleamed a timid, restless desire and a sort of inner struggle with some thought preoccupying her. Genoveva, on the other hand, was more than ever absorbed in her stocking, doubtless mixing with her stitches a crowd of more or less philosophical considerations which obliged her, from time to time, to lean forward towards her hands just as if she were asleep.