The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

his office. On her way down the stairs, she saw how the soldiers observed her, smiling to one another,
no doubt joking about another Frenchwoman courting a dashing German soldier who had just broken
her heart. But it wasn’t until she stepped back out into the sunshine that she realized fully her mistake.
Several women were in the square, or near it, and they saw her step out of the Nazis’ lair.
One of the women was Isabelle.
Vianne hurried down the steps, toward Hélène Ruelle, the baker’s wife, who was delivering bread to
the Kommandantur.
“Socializing, Madame Mauriac?” Hélène said archly as Vianne rushed past her.
Isabelle was practically running across the square toward her. With a defeated sigh, Vianne came to
a standstill, waiting for her sister to reach her.
“What were you doing in there?” Isabelle demanded, her voice too loud, or maybe that was only to
Vianne’s ears.
“They fired the teachers today. No. Not all of them, just the Jews and the Freemasons and the
communists.” The memory welled up in her, made her feel sick. She remembered the quiet hallway and
the confusion among the teachers who remained. No one knew what to do, how to defy the Nazis.
“Just them, huh?” Isabelle said, her face tightening.
“I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I meant to clarify. They didn’t fire all the teachers.” Even to her
own ears it sounded a feeble excuse, so she shut up.
“And this says nothing to explain your presence at their headquarters.”
“I … thought Captain Beck could help us. Help Rachel.”
“You went to Beck for a favor?”
“I had to.”
“Frenchwomen do not ask Nazis for help, Vianne. Mon Dieu, you must know this.”
“I know,” Vianne said defiantly. “But…”
“But what?”
Vianne couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I gave him a list of names.”
Isabelle went very still. For an instant she seemed not to be breathing. The look she gave Vianne
stung more than a slap across the face. “How could you do that? Did you give him Rachel’s name?”
“I d-didn’t know,” Vianne stammered. “How could I know? He said it was clerical.” She grabbed
Isabelle’s hand. “Forgive me, Isabelle. Truly. I didn’t know.”
“It is not my forgiveness you need to seek, Vianne.”
Vianne felt a stinging, profound shame. How could she have been so foolish, and how in God’s
name could she make amends? She glanced at her wristwatch. Classes would be ending soon. “Go to
the school,” Vianne said. “Get Sophie, Sarah, and take them home. There’s something I need to do.”
“Whatever it is, I hope you’ve thought it through.”
“Go,” Vianne said tiredly.
* * *