"At least," interposed Olivares, "if you will not delay, do not anticipate." And monsignor resumed his hasty walk between the door and window, listening for the fatal sound which the faithful tongue of the clock still refused to utter. Despite of the delay, however, the fatal hour approached. Ten minutes more, and Ranuccio's fate would be sealed. Meanwhile the cardinal repaired to the pope. As he entered, Sixtus drew out his watch, and his eyes sparkled with revengeful joy. On the testimony of that unerring time-piece Ranuccio was already executed. "What seek you?" asked his holiness. "The body of my nephew, that I may convey it to Parma. At least let the unhappy boy repose in the tomb of his ancestors." "Did he die like a Christian?" "Like a saint," cried the cardinal, trembling at a moment's delay. Sixtus V. traced the following words: "We order our governor of Fort St. Angelo to deliver up to his eminence the body of Ranuccio Farnese." Having sealed it with the pontifical signet, he gave it to the cardinal. Arrived at the palace gates, Farnese, agitated between fear and hope, hastened to demand an entrance. A profound silence reigned within, broken only by the distant note of the "De profundis." He rushed toward the court. Was he too late?--had his stratagem succeeded? One look would decide. He raised his eyes--his nephew still lived. His neck bare, and his hands tied, he knelt beside the block, between a priest and the executioner, faintly uttering the words of his last prayer. Suddenly the chanting ceased; the cardinal flew toward the governor. Ere he could speak, his gestures and his countenance lied for him: "A pardon?--a pardon!" exclaimed Olivares. The soldiers shouted. The executioner began to unloose his victim, when a sign from Angeli made him pause. The governor read and re-read the missive. "The _body_ of Ranuccio Farnese!" he repeated: "the criminal's name would suffice. Why these words, '_The body of_?'" "What stops you?" cried the cardinal, at that perilous moment looking paler than his nephew. "Read!" replied Angeli, handing him the pope's letter. "Is that all?" said his eminence, forcing a smile and pointing to the clock. "Look at the hour: it still wants two minutes of the time, and I received that paper from his holiness more than a quarter of an hour since." The governor bowed: the argument was irresistible. Ranuccio was given up to his deliverers. A carriage, with four fleet horses, waited outside the prison, and in a few moments the cardinal and the young prince were galloping along the road to Parma. Just then the clocks of Rome pealed forth in unison, as if rejoicing that by their judicious silence they had gained their master's cause. It might be well if lawyers in our day would sometimes follow their example.