But for all its excitement and bloodshed this four days' revolution failed to excite much enthusiasm in the maestro. Perhaps it seemed poor fun after those scenes of the Napoleonic Invasion and the successive campaigns of the Peninsular War, which he remembered from his childhood. He may even have grown weary of such scenes, and considered the whole affair badly managed after the other revolutions he had been through. Certainly there had been much less fuss when, eighteen years before, he had seen Charles X. driven out and Louis Philippe made king. He had passed through too many excitements already. One can almost imagine the scene that must have taken place in the July of 1846, when he was informed by a breathless pupil at the beginning of a lesson that an attempt had just been made on the king's life by Henri. One can picture him shaking his head reprovingly and replying, "Yes; but it was not as exciting as some of the other attempts on his life that I remember. Let me see, it must have been--yes, it was in the July of 1835, almost exactly thirteen years ago to the day, that the first one took place. Now that really _was_ a fine one! Fieschi fired an infernal machine as the king was riding down the Boulevard du Temple along the lines of the National Guard. Louis Philippe was accompanied by his three sons. They all four escaped, but the Duke of Treviso was shot dead, and forty persons were killed and wounded. Now that's what I call something _like_ an attempt! "Then, next year, there was Louis Alibaud, who fired at the king on his way to the Tuileries. _Pauvre garçon!_ He was guillotined for his trouble. "There wasn't another attempt for some time, but in 1840, again, Darmès fired at Louis Philippe; that was the year before the attempt made to assassinate one of the king's sons, the Duke of Aumale; but there was no result. Much better leave things to Providence. Why, it was only a year later that the heir to the throne was killed without bothering any one to risk his neck over it! Yes, he had a fall from his carriage. Bless me! you must remember that; it was only six years ago. Then there was Lecompte, who had a try at his unhappy majesty when he was going to Fontainebleau. How many people did you say were killed to-day when Henri made the attempt? None? Dear, dear. It's not like the old days. Well, let's get on with the lesson. What songs have you brought?" If such a scene as this did _not_ take place, it certainly might well have done so. However, what with revolutions, the driving out of kings, and the general unrest during the twenty years that followed his return from America as a young man of twenty-three, the maestro came to the conclusion that the French capital was getting too unsettled to be suitable for the giving of singing lessons. At the end of the month, therefore, he shook the dust of Paris from his feet and set out for London, where he had made up his mind to settle and establish himself as a teacher.