“Oh. In May, I think. The end of May.”

“Ah, then it was conceived in August. How lovely.”

“Lovely?”

Elfriede sits on the divan and reaches out to clasp Nurse’s damp hand. She says kindly, “Are you very much in love with him?”

“I—no, of course—I mean—oh, Frau von Kleist—”

“Now, don’t cry. Don’t weep so. Everything will be all right, I promise.”

“We didn’t mean it. We never meant to.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“I don’t know what came over us.”

“Hush, now. You were lonely, that’s all. Both of you, and Johann between you. Of course you fell in love.”

Nurse slides to the floor, sobbing.

“You must hate me,” she gasps. “How I’ve betrayed you. Your son and then your husband. I’m a wretch, a wretch.”

“Does he know?” Elfriede asks gently, stroking Nurse’s hair.

“N-n-no. I only suspected—and then he was sick—”

“I see. Of course.”

“It was my fault. Don’t blame him, Frau. I went to him. I felt so sorry for him. I only meant to comfort him . . . I loved him so . . . I couldn’t bear it, how sad he was, how hopeless. He thought you might never come back.”

“Then you made him happy.”

“No. Not even that.” Nurse’s sobs are ebbing now. She turns her head to the side and stares at the wall, which happens to be the one shared with Gerhard’s chamber. “He felt terrible afterward. I think you should know that, how terrible he felt, the first time we did it. He wept, Frau, he wept in my arms like a child. He railed at himself. But then . . .”

“But then it got easier, didn’t it? I imagine the first time must be the worst. Particularly for a man like Gerhard, so terribly loyal and full of ideals. It must have broken his heart, at first. But then once you’ve started, how can you stop? You’ve already sinned, I suppose. It’s done. You might as well go on.”

“A man like the baron has needs, Frau.” Nurse sniffs. She rises from the floor and smooths her hair. “Anyway, I’ll be going. The upstairs maid is watching poor young Johann. I don’t want to say good-bye, it will be too hard for us both. You won’t tell Ger— You won’t tell Herr von Kleist, please? It’s better this way.”

“I don’t understand.”

Nurse turns to face Elfriede, and the expression on her broad, tanned, attractive face is brave and tragic, maybe a little too brave and tragic. “It’s better he never knows. I’ll go to stay with my sister. I’ve some money saved—”

“My dear. My dear girl. You mustn’t think of it.”

“I—I beg your pardon, Frau?”