The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

'Stay another month; things must come to a head before then.'

A month would have been as bad as a year.

'I am out of health,' I answered; 'I feel I want to get into a different atmosphere.'

Checco thought for a moment.

'Very well,' he said, 'we can arrange matters to suit us both. I want someone to go to Florence for me to conclude a little business matter with Messer Lorenzo de' Medici. You would be away a fortnight; and if you are out of sorts the ride across country will put you right. Will you go?'

I thought for a moment. It was not a very long absence, but the new sights would distract me, and I wanted to see Florence again. On the whole, I thought it would suffice, and that I could count on the cure of my ill before the time was up.

'Very well,' I answered.

'Good! And you will have a pleasant companion. I had talked to Scipione Moratini about it; it did not occur to me that you would go. But it will be all the better to have two of you.'

'If I go,' I said, 'I shall go alone.'

Checco was rather astonished.