His love of contrasts, his gift for depicting locality and somehow conveying the very atmosphere belonging to the varied scenes that are to be brought before the spectator's eye, give amplitude to such attractive little compositions as _Louis XIV. and Molière_ (1863), and _A Collaboration_ (1874); evoke the whole sombre tragedy of the death of Maréchal Ney, _December 7, 1815, Nine o'clock in the Morning_ (1868); and appeal successively to our curiosity, our sympathy, or our admiration, with a Frederick II., conqueror of Silesia, playing on his flute, the _King Flutist_ (1874, purchased by M. H. Oppenheim), _His Gray Eminence_ (1874), in which the austere and dominant Father Joseph is making his way alone, down the stairway, in the presence of the obsequious courtiers; a Bonaparte day-dreaming before the Sphinx, _Oedipus_ (1886), a _Bonaparte at Cairo_ gazing at the town from the back of his Arab horse, a _Bonaparte in Egypt_, mounted on a white dromedary, dreaming of his omnipotence, of his conquest of the universe, and surrounded by his overdriven soldiers. As a matter of fact, Gérôme made a sort of hero-worship of Napoleon and the Napoleonic epic, resembling in this respect his friend, M. Frédéric Masson, the celebrated historian of the Emperor, who was better qualified than any other writer to pay an eloquent tribute to this _Bonaparte in Egypt_. "Bonaparte is no longer on the road to Syria, he is on the road to India; he is hesitating between the two halves of the world that he holds in his hands; he is weighing the destiny of Alexander against the destiny of Cæsar; he is asking himself whether Asia, to which he holds the key, is a fair exchange for Europe which he has just quitted; and while his dream embraces the universe, he leaves his human rubbish heap to suffer." Gérôme is wholly himself when he has an anecdote to give us, whether it be subtle, humorous, kindly, or dramatic, and even,--why not use the word?--melodramatic. Classified thus, _The Duel after the Masquerade_ fully deserves its brilliant reputation. Reproduced, not only in lithographs and engravings, but even transferred to the theatre (given at the Gymnase, in 1881, by Mme. Fould), its subject has become a matter of general knowledge. It is winter in the Bois de Boulogne. A number of people in fancy costume are bending over a wounded Pierrot, while one of the witnesses of this improvised duel is leading away the murderer, the Harlequin. One can see at once what a tremendous appeal a subject like this would have for the general public. This singular drama, taking place in the snow, all this joyousness ending in bloodshed and perhaps death, is so fantastic that it leaves a lasting impression. It was, by the way, as M. Guillaumin has explained, suggested by an actual duel that took place between Deluns-Montaud, the Harlequin, and the Prefect of Police Bortelle, the Pierrot.