The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

'It is in the air in Florence—one breathes it in through every pore.'

'What, liberty?'

'No; the spirit of the courtier.'

Lorenzo looked at me sharply, then at Pico, repressing a smile at my sarcasm.

'Well, about your business from Forli?' he said; but when I began explaining the transaction he interrupted me. 'Oh, all that you can arrange with my secretaries. Tell me what is going on in the town. There have been rumours of disturbance.'

I looked at Pico, who rose and went out, saying,—

'I will leave you. Politics are not for me.'

I told Lorenzo all that had happened, while he listened intently, occasionally interrupting me to ask a question. When I had finished, he said—

'And what will happen now?'

I shrugged my shoulders.