Three o’clock
At this point Prada 's clearness of vision failed him ; again he conjured up Destiny on the march , that Destiny which he had met on the road from Frascati , going on towards its unknown goal , athwart all obstacles without possibility of stoppage . Aye , the little basket of figs went ever on and on to accomplish its fateful purpose , which no hand in the world had power enough to prevent . And at last , on either hand of Pierre and Prada , the Via Giulia stretched away in a long line white with moonlight , and the priest emerged as if from a dream at sight of the Palazzo Boccanera rising blackly under the silver sky . Three o'clock struck at a neighbouring church . And he felt himself quivering slightly as once again he heard near him the dolorous moan of a lion wounded unto death , that low involuntary growl which the Count , amidst the frightful struggle of his feelings , had for the third time allowed to escape him . But immediately afterwards he burst into a sneering laugh , and pressing the priest 's hands , exclaimed : `` No , no , I am not going farther . If I were seen here at this hour , people would think that I had fallen in love with my wife again . ''