The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (12.1897)

Three Reflections

By Stanley V. Makower

I—The Actor

he dominoes clattered upon the marble tables of the Cafd

Royal, and the steady brilliance of the lights shed a glow
over the cloud-girt goddesses that grinned and beckoned in be-
wildering deshabille from the ceiling. The long, gilded room
was crowded with people and with the images of people reflected
in its numerous glass panels.

My companion and I sat without speaking, satisfied to rest ;
for the day had been tiring, and outside the wind was cold, and
the rain had beat upon our faces like little cold pellets of lead.

Directly behind us sat a young man who was swaying his
body to and fro in so strange a manner that I shuddered, as if in a
nightmare, when we are oppressed with the continuous fear that
a calamity must happen ... in a moment, ... at this moment
. . . now . . . and that calamity never happens. Finally the
young man lay half across the velvet-cushioned seat, motionless.
A glass of coffee stood before him on the table, untasted, with
the spoon it.

Suddenly the head waiter came up, shook him roughly by the
shoulders, and said :

“ You