"See," I said, "what I have found on the floor."
Bro went back to the sick man's room.
"Why, my dear fellow, you are mad, to leave such things as these lying about on the floor."
"Do you know whose head that is?" Géricault asked laughingly.
"No."
"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.