The door on the right-hand side of the imperial carriage opened, and the crowd saw a gentleman in evening dress get out. He seemed to be in some pain; he looked rather frightened; his face was as white as wax. His features were convulsed, the eyes those of a man waking from a nightmare, wondering if his nocturnal visions were real or imaginary; while his hat, almost crushed out of shape, and on the back of his head, gave him a ridiculous appearance. This mixture of two different characters imprinted on his physiognomy made him look like a tragical clown, affected by a sincere chagrin and ready to shed real tears. It was Pierrot haunted by a spectre; it was His Imperial Majesty Napoleon III., Emperor of the French.
But the Emperor, courageous and cool, subdued his emotion. He had always been calm in moments of danger, and now he did not raise a cry of alarm, nor utter imprecations, nor hasten his movements. The bystanders nearest to him scarcely noticed a slight feverishness in the gesture which he made in taking the Empress’s hand, and the tremor in his voice when he said to her soothingly: “Come, Eugénie, get out of the carriage.”
She alighted comparatively quickly. She, too, was livid. The diadem which encircled her golden hair was all awry, looking as if it had been struck by someone’s fist. “Ah, mon Dieu, it is horrible! What has happened, Louis?”
“This blood upon thee!” the Emperor exclaimed. “Art thou injured?”
A long red stream trickled down her pink dress and over her white gloves.
“No, I don’t feel anything,” she answered. “It is not my blood; it must be the General’s.”[44]
The Emperor led his wife into the vestibule of the theatre, and here the Sovereigns questioned each other with that sincerity which even mutual incompatibility never completely banishes—sincerity which, in hours of danger, springs from some unknown source.
“Why dost thou rub thy eye, Louis?” said the Empress. Then, closely examining his face, she noticed a slight scratch on the Emperor’s left eye. Reassured, she said: “It is nothing. But it might have blinded thee. God has protected thee. Fortunately, before we came out I offered a prayer to my patron saint and one to St. Christopher.”
The Emperor thought the protection accorded them by the saints would have been still more complete had the catastrophe been prevented, but he said nothing; and having satisfied himself that the Empress was unhurt, he assisted her to make the slight readjustments of her toilette which were necessary to enable them to appear in the imperial box without any visible indications of the terrible ordeal they had undergone.[45]
Mr. Allsop was among the thousands who witnessed the explosions in the Rue Le Peletier. He was also among the victims. He entered a pharmacy, was duly attended to, returned to his lodgings, and went to bed. He had his own reasons for determining to leave Paris for England the next day. Full of this intention, he was endeavouring to get to sleep when he was disturbed by a loud knocking at the door. Then his room was invaded by the police, who unceremoniously hustled him into a waiting cab. And one head that rolled into the basket was the head of Orsini, alias Allsop.[46]