"Bravo! that's just his nose and brow," said Flandrin, as Müller's rapid hand flew over the paper. "Yes--the likeness comes with every touch ... and the eyes, so keen and furtive. ... Nay, that eyelid should be a little more depressed at the corner.... Yes, yes--just so. Admirable! There!--don't attempt to work it up. The least thing might mar the likeness. My dear fellow, what a service you have rendered me!" "_Quatre-vingt mille diables_!" ejaculated the model, his eyes riveted upon the sketch. Müller laughed and looked. "_Tiens_! Guichet," said he, "is that meant for a compliment?" "Where did you see him?" asked the model, pointing down at the sketch. "Why? Do you know him?" "Where did you see him, I say?" repeated Guichet, impatiently. He was a rough fellow, and garnished every other sentence with an oath; but he did not mean to be uncivil. "At the Café Procope." "When?" "About an hour ago. But again, I repeat--do you know him?" "Do I know him? _Tonnerre de Dieu_!" "Then who and what is he?" The model stroked his beard; shook his head; declined to answer. "Bah!" said he, gloomily, "I may have seen him, or I may be mistaken. 'Tis not my affair." "I suspect Guichet knows something against this interesting stranger," laughed Flandrin. "Come, Guichet, out with it! We are among friends." But Guichet again looked at the drawing, and again shook his head. "I'm no judge of pictures, messieurs," said he. "I'm only a poor devil of a model. How can I pretend to know a man from such a _griffonage_ as that?" And, taking up his big sword again, he retreated to his former post over against the picture. We all saw that he was resolved to say no more. Flandrin, delighted with Müller's sketch, put it, with many thanks and praises, carefully away in one of the great folios against the wall. "You have no idea, _mon cher_ Müller," he said, "of what value it is to me. I was in despair about the thing till I saw that fellow this morning in the Café; and he looked as if he had stepped out of the Middle Ages on purpose for me. It is quite a mediæval face--if you know what I mean by a mediæval face." "I think I do," said Müller. "You mean that there was a moyen-âge type, as there was a classical type, and as there is a modern type." "Just so; and therein lies the main difficulty that we historical painters have to encounter. When we cannot find portraits of our characters, we are driven to invent faces for them--and who can invent what he never sees? Invention must be based on some kind of experience; and to study old portraits is not enough for our purpose, except we frankly make use of them as portraits. We cannot generalize upon them, so as to resuscitate a vanished type." "But then has it really vanished?" said Müller. "And how can we know for certain that the mediæval type did actually differ from the type we see before us every day?"