I must admit that, in spite of the ill-feeling I had entertained for Frank, with the exception of M. Delacroix's "Charles the Fifth," the "Marguerite and Faust" of Ary Scheffer, and "The Children of Edward" by M. Delaroche, I had scarcely ever been more profoundly touched by the irresistible power of genius. Giving myself up to its charming influence, thinking only of enjoying its beauty, I lost myself in the thousand impressions this picture awakened in me; but when this first effervescence of involuntary admiration was somewhat calmed, my envious feelings returned with a sharper sting than ever, for I appreciated all there was great and elevated in the talent of Hélène's husband. I looked in the catalogue; this beautiful picture had not yet been sold. A mean frame, whose cheapness was noticeable and displeasing to me, surrounded this _chef-d'œuvre_, which was barely visible, consigned as it was to the very end of the gallery among all the miserable daubs which are thrust to one side. I judged from this fact that Frank was but little known. He had probably just arrived from Germany, without friends and without protection, and had simply abandoned his picture to all the hazards of the exposition. They say that some of the most talented men die unknown, or live misunderstood. I do not believe this. A first attempt may not be successful, but true merit inevitably rises at last to its own level. I made this reflection, which I believe a just one, as I thought bitterly that sooner or later the remarkable talent of Frank would become recognised, and that his obscurity, over which I was now rejoicing, would be but a thing of the past. I looked again in the catalogue for the numbers and subjects of his water-colour sketches. Like the painting, they demonstrated the poetic intelligence of the artist. The subject of one was from Shakespeare's "King Lear;" the other was from Goethe's beautiful drama of "Goetz of Berlichingen." Not far from Frank's oil-painting I discovered these two sketches, which were of large dimensions. The subject of the first was that sad and touching scene, in which Cordelia, the noble daughter of the old king, notices in her father the return of reason, the cruelty of his other daughters having driven him crazy. He exclaims: "Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight! I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity, to see another thus. I know not what to say, I will not swear these are my hands. Let's see, I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured of my condition!"