they could all be fired at once. Happily two did not go off, and
four burst, wounding the wretch who had fired them. Instantly the
reception of the king, which had been cold when he set forth, changed
into rapturous enthusiasm. He and his sons had borne themselves
with the greatest bravery.

The queen had been about to quit the Tuileries to witness the review,
when the door of her dressing-room was pushed open, and a colonel
burst in, exclaiming: "Madame, the king has been fired at. He is not
hurt, nor the princes, but the Boulevard is strewn with corpses."
The queen, raising her trembling hands to heaven, waited only for
a repetition of his assurance that her dear ones were all safe,
and then set out to find the king. She met him on the staircase,
and husband and wife wept in each other's arms.

The queen then went to her sons, looked at them, and touched them,
hardly able to believe that they were not seriously wounded, and
turned away, shuddering, from the blood on M. Thiers' clothes.
Then, returning to her chamber, she sent a note at once to her
younger boys, D'Aumale and Montpensier, who were with their tutors
at the Château d'Eu. It began with these words: "Fall down on your
knees, my children; God has preserved your father."

Of course the Legitimists, and likewise the Republicans, were accused
of inspiring the attempt of Fieschi. The trials, that took place
about six months later, proved that the assassin Fieschi was a
wretch bearing a strong resemblance to our own Guiteau.

The funeral ceremonies of the victims of the infernal machine were
celebrated with great pomp. The affair led to a partial reconciliation