Rapp, seized with fear, and only thinking that Bonaparte was in danger, sprang out of the carriage, and, careless of the wounded and bleeding, who lay near, ran onward to the opera to find out if Bonaparte had safely reached there.  While the ladies, in mortal agony, remained on the Place de Carrousel, not knowing whether to return to the Tuileries or to drive forward, a messenger arrived at full speed to announce that the first consul had not been hurt, and that he was waiting for his wife in his loge, and begged her to come without delay.  Meanwhile Rapp had reached the opera, and had penetrated into the box of the first consul.  Bonaparte was seated calmly and unmoved in his accustomed place, examining the audience through his glass, and now and then addressing a few words to the secretary of police, Fouche, who stood near him.  No sooner did Bonaparte see Rapp, than he said hastily, and in a low voice—­ “Josephine?”

At that moment she entered, followed by Madame Murat and Hortense.  Bonaparte saluted them with a smile, and with a look of unfathomable love he extended his hand to Josephine.  She was still pale and trembling, although she had no conception of the greatness of the danger which had menaced her.

Bonaparte endeavored to quiet her by stating that the explosion was probably the result of some accident or imprudence; but at this moment the prefect of the police entered who had been on the spot, and had come to give a report of the dreadful effects of the explosion.  Fifteen persons had been killed, more than thirty had been severely wounded, and about forty houses seriously damaged.  This was all the work of a so-called infernal machine—­a small barrel filled with powder and quicksilver—­which had been placed in a little carriage at the entrance of the Hue St. Nicaise.

Until now Josephine did not realize the extent of the danger which had threatened her and her husband.  Had the explosion taken place a few moments before, it would have killed the consul; if it had been one minute later, Josephine and her companions would have been involved in the catastrophe.  It was the shawl which Rapp was arranging on her shoulders according to the rules of art, which caused them to retard their departure, and thus saved her life.

An inexpressible horror now seized her and made her tremble; her looks, full of love and deep anguish, were fixed on Bonaparte, who, in a low voice, entreated her to compose herself, and not to make her distress public.  Near Josephine sat Hortense, pale and agitated, like her mother; around her wounded arm was wrapped a handkerchief, stained here and there with blood.  Madame Murat was quiet and composed, like Bonaparte, who was then giving instructions to the prefect of police to provide immediate assistance for the unfortunate persons who had been wounded.