Besieged incessantly by fresh supplications from various influential quarters, the pope sent for Monsignor Angeli, the governor of Fort St. Angelo. To him he gave imperative orders, that precisely at twenty-four o'clock[2] that evening his illustrious prisoner's head should be struck off. [2] In Italy the hours are reckoned from 1 to 24, commencing at sunset. The governor returned to the castle, and signified to Ranuccio that he had but two hours to live. The young man laughed in his face, and began to eat his supper. He could not bring himself to believe that he, the heir-apparent of the Duke of Parma, could be seriously menaced with death by an obscure monk, whose only title to the pontificate seemed to have been his age and decrepitude. Yet speedily the threat seemed to him less worthy of derision, when he saw from his window a scaffold, bearing a hatchet and a block, in process of erection. But who can describe his dismay when his room was entered by a monk, who came to administer the last rites of the church, followed by the executioner, asking for his last orders! Meantime Cardinal Farnese was not idle. He consulted with his friend, Count Olivares, embassador from the court of Spain, and they resolved to attempt to obtain by stratagem what had been refused to their prayers. Two precious hours remained. "Our only plan," said the cardinal, "is to stop the striking of all the public clocks in Rome! Meantime do you occupy Angeli's attention." His eminence possessed great influence in the city, and, moreover, the control of the public clocks belonged to his prerogative. At the appointed hour, as if by magic, time changed his noisy course into a silent flight. Two clocks, those of St. Peter and St. Angelo, were put back twenty minutes. Their proximity to the prison required this change, and the cardinal's authority secured the inviolable secrecy of every one concerned in the plot. The execution was to be private; but Olivares, in his quality of embassador, was permitted to remain with the governor. A single glance assured him that the clock was going right--that is to say, that it was quite wrong. Already the inner court was filled with soldiers under arms, and monks chanting the solemn "Dies Irae." Every thing was prepared save the victim. Olivares was with Angeli, and a scene commenced at once terrible and burlesque. The embassador, in order to gain time, began to converse on every imaginable subject, but the governor would not listen. "My orders," he said, "are imperative. At the first stroke of the clock all will be over." "But the pope may change his mind." Without replying, the terrible Angeli walked impatiently up and down the room, watching for the striking of his clock. He called: a soldier appeared. "Is all prepared?" All was prepared: the attendants, like their master, were only waiting for the hour. "'Tis strange," muttered the governor. "I should have thought--"