Fear of being given away obsessed her. She saw herself unmasked, overwhelmed by her mother’s reproaches and her stepfather’s insults; she saw herself made a laughingstock and felt incapable of enduring so many humiliations. She decided to die.

But when Julia was standing in front of her, smiling without malice, seeming as unaware of their first meeting as if it had never happened, Idolina’s fears were calmed, though in secret she felt disappointed. It wasn’t until later, in their daily conversations, that she began to tense into a state of alert. She noticed that every time she complained about some ailment, every time she tried to take refuge from unpleasant obligations in her illness, Julia would stare at her with such an ironic look on her face that a cold sweat would run down Idolina’s back. Julia opened her lips. Was she going to give away her secret? No, she was pleading. Her entreaty didn’t quite veil the threat that was implicit in the authoritarian tone of her voice, a threat meant to force the girl to give up her invalid’s privileges and concern herself a little with other people’s convenience.

“What do you mean you don’t want to eat?” Julia remonstrated. “No, it isn’t that you feel worse. It’s because you spend the whole long day in bed. No one would be hungry after that. But if you would just get a little exercise. . . .”

“Exercise?” Isabel said in amazement, gesturing toward the bed where her daughter lay.

“Idolina, you know perfectly well that what I’m asking isn’t impossible. I only want you to show your will power, put a little of yourself into it.”

The girl nodded, pale with fear.

“Look, you could start by sitting up. No, not in your bed against that pile of pillows. In a chair: sit up straight, like this.”

“She’s going to get very tired, Julia.”

“As soon as she gets tired she’ll rest. We aren’t here to torture her, are we? Let’s see: Idolina, lean against me to get up. No, leave the others alone: this is between us. Hang on to my arm. Come on, a little tighter. And your feet, solid on the ground.”

“I can’t,” the girl moaned.

“I’ve seen you more determined on other occasions.”

The allusion to the scene in the attic was enough to make Idolina submit to Julia’s orders. She tried to walk—the chair was two steps away—feeling the fictional support La Alazana was offering her vanish.

“You see?” Julia exclaimed, triumphant. “It’s just a matter of deciding you want to. Now, rest a while. Tomorrow we’ll move the chair a little further away.”