There was an almost contemptuous deliberation in the manner in which all this was stated to the man to whom it was scarcely intelligible. Waltenberg had never worked, never devised anything that he loved and would fain see completed; he had never done aught save follow the impulse of the whim of the moment. Now this impulse incited him to the destruction of his enemy or to his own ruin,--he did not stop to ask which; but to be obliged to wait for days, to stay his thirst for revenge,--the thing seemed an impossibility.
"And if I do not accept this condition?" he asked, sharply.
"Then I do not accept your challenge. The choice is yours."
Ernst clinched his fist in suppressed fury; but he saw that he must submit: it was his antagonist's right to require this delay.
"So be it, then!" he said, controlling himself by an effort. "In from eight to ten days. I rely upon your word."
"You will find me ready."
A formal, hostile bow was given on both sides, and Ernst left the room, while Elmhorst slowly walked to the window.
Outside, the moon, visible now and then among the clouds, cast an uncertain light over the landscape. For a moment it emerged clearly, and in its rays was revealed the bridge, the bold structure which had promised its creator so proud a future. And out into the same light strode the man who had sworn his death,--whose hand was sure when a foe was to be removed from his path. Wolfgang made no effort at self-deception: he bade farewell to his dreams for the future, as he had already bidden farewell to his happiness.