It became as hard to stop looking into the box as it had been to take my eyes from the painting of the woman with the pearl necklace the first time I’d seen it. When I heard the tap on the door I just had time to straighten up and let the robe drop to my shoulders before he walked in.

“Have you looked again, Griet? Have you looked properly?”

“I have looked, sir, but I am not at all sure of what I have seen.” I smoothed my cap.

“It is surprising, isn’t it? I was as amazed as you the first time my friend showed it to me.”

“But why do you look at it, sir, when you can look at your own painting?”

“You do not understand.” He tapped the box. “This is a tool. I use it to help me see, so that I am able to make the painting.”

“But—you use your eyes to see.”

“True, but my eyes do not always see everything.”

My eyes darted to the corner, as if they would discover something unexpected that had been hidden from me before, behind the powder-brush, emerging from the shadows of the blue cloth.

“Tell me, Griet,” he continued, “do you think I simply paint what is there in that corner?”

I glanced at the painting, unable to answer. I felt as if I were being tricked. Whatever I answered would be wrong.

“The camera obscura helps me to see in a different way,” he explained. “To see more of what is there.”

When he saw the baffled expression on my face he must have regretted saying so much to someone like me. He turned and snapped the box shut. I slipped off his robe and held it out to him.

“Sir—”

“Thank you, Griet,” he said as he took it from me. “Have you finished with the cleaning here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may go, then.”

“Thank you, sir.” I quickly gathered my cleaning things and left, the door clicking shut behind me.

I thought about what he had said, about how the box helped him to see more. Although I did not understand why, I knew he was right because I could see it in his painting of the woman, and also what I remembered of the painting of Delft. He saw things in a way that others did not, so that a city I had lived in all my life seemed a different place, so that a woman became beautiful with the light on her face.

The day after I looked in the box I went to the studio and it was gone. The easel was back in its place. I glanced at the painting. Previously I had found only tiny changes in it. Now there was one easily seen—the map hanging on the wall behind the woman had been removed from both the painting and the scene itself. The wall was now bare. The painting looked the better for it—simpler, the lines of the woman clearer now against the brownish-white background of the wall. But the change upset me—it was so sudden. I would not have expected it of him.

I felt uneasy after I left the studio, and as I walked to the Meat Hall I did not look about me as I usually did. Though I waved hello to the old butcher I did not stop, even when he called out to me.

Pieter the son was minding the stall alone. I had seen him a few times since that first day, but always in the presence of his father, standing in the background while Pieter the father took charge. Now he said, “Hello, Griet. I’ve wondered when you would come.”

I thought that a silly thing to say, as I had been buying meat at the same time each day.

His eyes did not meet mine.

I decided not to remark on his words. “Three pounds of stewing beef, please. And do you have more of those sausages your father sold me the other day? The girls liked them.”

“There are none left, I’m afraid.”

A woman came to stand behind me, waiting her turn. Pieter the son glanced at her. “Can you wait for a moment?” he said to me in a low voice.

“Wait?”

“I want to ask you something.”

I stood aside so that he could serve the woman. I did not like doing so when I was feeling so unsettled, but I had little choice.

When he was done and we were alone again he asked, “Where does your family live?”

“The Oude Langendijck, at Papists’ Corner.”

“No, no, your family.”

I flushed at my mistake. “Off the Rietveld Canal, not far from the Koe Gate. Why do you ask?”

His eyes fully met mine at last. “There have been reports of the plague in that quarter.”

I took a step back, my eyes widening. “Has a quarantine been set?”

“Not yet. They expect to today.”

Afterwards I realized he must have been asking others about me. If he hadn’t already known where my family lived, he would never have known to tell me about the plague.

I do not remember getting back from there. Pieter the son must have placed the meat in my pail but all I knew was that I arrived at the house, dropped the pail at Tanneke’s feet and said, “I must see the mistress.”

Tanneke rummaged through the pail. “No sausages, and nothing to take their place! What’s the matter with you? Go straight back to the Meat Hall.”

“I must see the mistress,” I repeated.

“What is it?” Tanneke grew suspicious. “Have you done something wrong?”

“My family may be quarantined. I must go to them.”

“Oh.” Tanneke shifted uncertainly. “I wouldn’t know about that. You’ll have to ask. She’s in with my mistress.”

Catharina and Maria Thins were in the Crucifixion room. Maria Thins was smoking her pipe. They stopped talking when I entered.

“What is it, girl?” Maria Thins grunted.

“Please, madam,” I addressed Catharina, “I have heard that my family’s street may be quarantined. I would like to go and see them.”

“What, and bring the plague back with you?” she snapped. “Certainly not. Are you mad?”

I looked at Maria Thins, which made Catharina angrier. “I have said no,” she announced. “It is I who decide what you can and cannot do. Have you forgotten that?”

“No, madam.” I lowered my eyes.

“You won’t be going home Sundays until it’s safe. Now go, we have things to discuss without you hanging about.”

I took the washing to the courtyard and sat outside with my back to the door so that I would not have to see anyone. I wept as I scrubbed one of Maertge’s dresses. When I smelled Maria Thins’ pipe I wiped my eyes but did not turn round.

“Don’t be silly, girl,” Maria Thins said quietly to my back. “You can’t do anything for them and you have to save yourself. You’re a clever girl, you can work that out.”

I did not answer. After a while I could no longer smell her pipe.

The next morning he came in while I was sweeping the studio.

“Griet, I am sorry to hear of your family’s misfortune,” he said.

I looked up from my broom. There was kindness in his eyes, and I felt I could ask him. “Will you tell me, sir, if the quarantine has been set?”

“It was, yesterday morning.”

“Thank you for telling me, sir.”

He nodded, and was about to leave when I said, “May I ask you something else, sir? About the painting.”

He stopped in the doorway. “What is it?”

“When you looked in the box, did it tell you to remove the map from the painting?”

“Yes, it did.” His face became intent like a stork’s when it sees a fish it can catch. “Does it please you that the map is gone?”

“It is a better painting now.” I did not think I would have dared to say such a thing at another time, but the danger to my family had made me reckless.

His smile made me grip my broom tightly.

I was not able to work well then. I was worried about my family, not about how clean I could get the floors or how white the sheets. No one may have remarked on my good housekeeping before, but everyone noticed how careless I was now. Lisbeth complained of a spotted apron. Tanneke grumbled that my sweeping caused dust to settle on the dishes. Catharina shouted at me several times—for forgetting to iron the sleeves of her chemise, for buying cod when I was meant to get herring, for letting the fire go out.