The next day she went to Pregny, as she had planned, accompanied only by her Hungarian lady-in-waiting, the Countess Sztaray. She was in a remarkably cheerful mood, most gracious and friendly with the Baroness and much pleased with her visit. Late in the afternoon she arrived at the Hôtel Beaurivage, where she was in the habit of staying. Every precaution had been taken as usual to preserve her incognito, though the servants, remembering her from former visits, were no doubt well aware of her identity. On her first arrival in Switzerland the police of the canton had been charged to watch over her safety, but she had wished as usual to be spared their espionage and left to go her own way. At noon on the tenth of September, 1898, she left the hotel with her lady-in-waiting to take the steamer to Mont de Caux. They were a little late, and the Countess Sztaray hurried on in advance of her mistress to signal the captain to wait for them. Just at that moment a man arose from a bench on the quay where he had been sitting as they passed. It was the Italian Luigi Luccheni, a dangerous anarchist on whom the Swiss authorities had been warned to keep a watchful eye. With one bound he flung himself upon the Empress and plunged a dagger into her breast. The Countess was unaware that anything had happened, but turning just in time to see her mistress stagger, ran and caught her in her arms. “Is Your Majesty ill?” she asked in alarm. “I do not know,” said Elizabeth. “Will Your Majesty take my arm?” “Thank you. I do not think I need it.” Though ghastly pale, she walked to the steamer without assistance, crossed the gang-plank, and then fell fainting to the deck. The steamer started, and the Countess Sztaray with some of the women on board endeavored to restore her to consciousness. No one suspected that she had been wounded until the Countess, loosening her dress to give her more air, discovered stains of blood on her clothing. Just then Elizabeth opened her eyes and in a clear, distinct voice asked, “What has happened?” then sank again into unconsciousness. Now thoroughly alarmed, the Countess informed the captain of her mistress’ identity, and the boat was turned back at once to Geneva, where Elizabeth was carried on a stretcher to the hotel and laid upon her bed. Three physicians who happened to be staying there at the time were hastily summoned and did all in their power to revive her, but in vain: about three o’clock she gave one or two deep sighs and passed away quietly and painlessly, as she had so often expressed a wish to do.