The Firefly of France
THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE CHAPTER I ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS The restaurant of the Hotel St. Ives seems, as I look back on it, an odd spot to have served as stage wings for a melodrama, pure and simple. Yet a melodrama did begin there. No other word fits the case. The inns of the Middle Ages, which, I believe, reeked with trap-doors and cutthroats, pistols and poisoned daggers, offered nothing weirder than my experience, with its first scene set beneath this roof. The food there is superperfect, every luxury surrounds you, millionaires and traveling princes are your fellow-guests. Still, sooner than pass another night there, I would sleep airily in Central Park, and if I had a friend seeking New York quarters, I would guide him toward some other place. It was pure chance that sent me to the St. Ives for the night before my
and his never asked for him when she fled from my house with her seducer.
I thought he should at least not lose his father, and that if he grew up
far away from the world he would be spared all the sorrow that it had so
profusely heaped upon me, I would have brought him up fit for Heaven, and
yet through a life devoid of suffering. And now--and now? If he is
miserable it will be through me, and added to all my other troubles comes
this grief."
"You have sought out the way for him," interrupted Paulus, "and the rest
will be sure to come; he loves you and will certainly not leave you so
long as you are suffering."
"Certainly not?" asked the sick man sadly. "And what weapons has he to
fight through life with?"
"You gave him the Saviour for a guide; that is enough," said Paulus
soothingly. "There is no smooth road from earth to Heaven, and none can
win salvation for another."
Stephanus was silent for a long time, then he said: "It is not even
allowed to a father to earn the wretched experience of life for his son,
or to a teacher for his pupil. We may point out the goal, but the way
thither is by a different road for each of us."
"And we may thank God for that," cried Paulus. "For Hermas has been
THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE CHAPTER I ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS The restaurant of the Hotel St. Ives seems, as I look back on it, an odd spot to have served as stage wings for a melodrama, pure and simple. Yet a melodrama did begin there. No other word fits the case. The inns of the Middle Ages, which, I believe, reeked with trap-doors and cutthroats, pistols and poisoned daggers, offered nothing weirder than my experience, with its first scene set beneath this roof. The food there is superperfect, every luxury surrounds you, millionaires and traveling princes are your fellow-guests. Still, sooner than pass another night there, I would sleep airily in Central Park, and if I had a friend seeking New York quarters, I would guide him toward some other place. It was pure chance that sent me to the St. Ives for the night before my