More than this, the Queen directed that several Dore pictures be
purchased and placed in Windsor Castle.

Of course, all Paris knew of Dore's success in England. Paris laughed.
"What did I tell you?" said Berand. And Paris reasoned that what England
and America gushed over must necessarily be very bad. The directors of
the Salon made excuses for not hanging his pictures.

Dore had become rich, but his own Paris--the Paris that had been a
foster-mother to him--refused to accredit him the honor which he felt was
his due.

In Eighteen Hundred Seventy-eight, smarting under the continued gibes and
geers of artistic France, he modeled a statue which he entitled "Glory."
It represents a woman holding fast in affectionate embrace a beautiful
youth, whose name we are informed is Genius. The woman has in one hand a
laurel-wreath; hidden in the leaves of this wreath is a dagger with which
she is about to deal the victim a fatal blow.

Dore grew dispirited, and in vain did his mother and near friends seek to
rally him out of the despondency that was settling down upon him. They
said, "You are only a little over forty, and many a good man has never
been recognized at all until after that--see Millet!"

But he shook his head.

When his mother died, in Eighteen Hundred Eighty-one, it seemed to snap
his last earthly tie. Of course he exaggerated the indifference there was
towards him; he had many friends who loved him as a man and respected him
as an artist.