THE LICHTENTHAL AVENUE—BADEN.
As we toiled up the long hill the gathering clouds presaged a rain storm. Then they broke, and as we reached the old ruin the sun came out with great brilliancy, and gave us a magnificent view up and down the broad, fertile valley.
But, unexpectedly, before we had time to go through the various rooms of the castle the rain began to fall in torrents, which was uncomfortable, the roof having long years ago succumbed to time, which has no more respect for a margrave’s castle than it has for a laborer’s hut. Time is no aristocrat.
We sought shelter in a room that had been fitted up as a restaurant, and then we were treated to a genuine storm right from the Black Forest. The wind howled around the open spaces of the ruined wails, the rain dashed against the window panes in fitful gusts, while above all other sounds could be heard the creaking and moaning of the trees all around us, as they were bent and swayed by the storm. It required but a little stretch of the imagination to fill the room with gallant knights, and to believe it was the din and clatter of battle we heard without.
