"Well, my good friend, it is the head of your porter's son. He came into my studio the other day, and I was so struck with the possibilities of his face that I asked him to sit for me, and in ten minutes I had done that study from it. Would you like to have it? Take it." "But if it is a study, you did it for an object." "Yes, for the object of study itself. It will perhaps come in useful to you some day." "Some day, my dear Bro, is a far cry, and in the meantime much water will have flowed under the bridges and many dead bodies will have been taken through the gates of the cemetery Montmartre." "Well! well!" said Bro. "Take it, my friend, and keep it," Géricault replied; "if I ever want it, I shall be able to find it at your house." Then he bowed us adieu, and we left him; Bro bringing away his angel's head. A week later, Géricault died, and his intimate friend and executor, Dreux-d'Orcy, had the greatest difficulty in getting the authorities of the Beaux-Arts to purchase _la Méduse_ for six thousand francs--a canvas which is now considered one of the most valuable possessions of the Musée. Yet the Government wanted it merely for the purpose of cutting out five or six of the heads as studies for its pupils to copy. Happily, De Dreux-d'Orcy stopped this sacrilege before it got beyond its inception. But I see I have forgotten to speak of Horace Vernet, of M. Ingres and of Delaroche, each of whom deserves special mention. They shall receive notice presently, but first one word more about Lord Byron.