“Has Mrs. S. always been so serious?” inquired of an acquaintance.
“No,” she replied, “she has been so only since the death of her husband. They loved one another. But unfortunately they occasionally had misunderstandings. On a certain morning after her husband had gone quite a distance on his way to work in the factory, he regretted his harsh words, because he loved her, so he retraced his steps and finding his wife in the kitchen, he said, “Marie, let us part as friends. Give me a kiss and let’s make up. It seems to me I’ll not succeed with my work if we don’t.”
But she turned away and wouldn’t even give him her hand. She really thought she might teach him to be less irritable in the future; for she really loved him.
He did not get back alive. In the evening he was brought home on a stretcher borne by four men. “Since then, I have not seen Mrs. S. laugh,” continued my friend.
Gladly would she have given years of her life not to have repulsed and pained her husband. And we, who witnessed how she was almost consumed with grief, said to ourselves: “Let us be ready to forgive at once.”