"When her husband was absent, she spent the whole night watching with Jesus, the spouse of her soul. But the penances which the innocent young princess imposed upon herself were not limited to this alone. Under her most splendid garments she always wore a haircloth cilicium next her flesh. Every Friday she let herself be severely whipped in secret in memory of the dolorous passion of our Lord, and daily during Lent (in order, says a biographer, to requite the Lord in some measure for the punishment of the lash), coming thereafter to Court, her face full of joy and serenity. As time went on she carried this austerity into the small hours of the night, and entering into an apartment next the chamber where she slept with her husband, she caused her damsels to inflict a severe scourging upon her, thence returning to her husband's side more joyful and amiable than ever, having gained comfort from these severities practised on herself and against her own weakness. Thus it was, as a contemporary poet says, she succeeded in drawing near to God and breaking the bonds of the prison of the flesh like a brave warrior of the love of the Lord."
"That'll do; don't read any more; what do you think about it?"
"I have often read that same thing before."
"That's true; but what should you think if I decided to do the same?" she asked impetuously, like one who determines to propose something long thought about.
Genoveva stared at her with wide-open eyes, failing to understand her.
"Don't you understand?"
"No, señorita."
Maria got up, and throwing her arms around her neck, she whispered, her face aflame,—
"I mean, silly one,[23] that if you would be willing to do the office of Saint Isabel's damsels, I would imitate the saint to-night."
Genoveva vaguely understood, but still she asked,—