The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

I put my hand to my sword, but Checco caught hold of my arm. I recovered myself at once.

'I beg your pardon, Messer Checco,' I said; then, turning to the man, 'You are safe in insulting me here. You show your breeding! Really, Matteo, you did not tell me that you had such a charming fellow-countryman.'

'You are too hard on us, Filippo,' answered my friend, 'for such a monstrosity as that Forli is not responsible.'

'I am no Forlivese, thank God! Neither the Count nor I.' He looked round scornfully. 'We offer up thanks to the Almighty every time the fact occurs to us. I am a citizen of Castello.'

Matteo was going to burst out, but I anticipated him. 'I, too, am a citizen of Castello; and allow me to inform you that I consider you a very insolent fellow, and I apologise to these gentlemen that a countryman of mine should forget the courtesy due to the city which is sheltering him.'

'You a Castelese! And, pray, who are you?'

'My name is Filippo Brandolini.'

'I know your house. Mine is Ercole Piacentini.'

'I cannot return the compliment; I have never heard of yours.'

The surrounders laughed.