The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

'Did you not think of my honour?'

'I thought of your happiness. It is better to have happiness without honour, than honour without happiness.'

'For you,' I groaned, 'but not for me.'

'You are of the same flesh and blood, and you suffer as we do. I could not destroy your happiness.'

'Oh, Giulia! Giulia!' Then, after a while, I asked again, 'But are you sure?'

'Alas, there is no doubt!'

'I cannot believe it! Oh God, help me! You don't know how I loved her! She could not! Let me see it with my own eyes, Fabio.'

We both stood silent; then a horrible thought struck me.

'Do you know—when they meet?' I whispered.

He groaned. I asked again.