On such days Castle Grenwitz looked more grim and lonely even than ordinarily. On other days, if no one else came there, the light of the sun at least entered in at the windows, and penetrated into all the rooms, even those locked-up staterooms in the upper stories, with their costly though faded brocade furniture, and greeted here and there a portrait which it knew now for a hundred years or more. On other days, if no one else was merry, the sparrows at least twittered, who had made their nests in the crevices of the old tower and the stucco-ornaments of the new addition, and who quarrelled as unconcernedly about their private affairs as if the baronial mansion was a common cottage or a miserable barn. And if you felt, in spite of all that, too lonely and deserted in the château, you could go down into the garden, where the flowers shone in much fairer and brighter colors than the tapestry and the chairs and the sofas in the staterooms, where gay butterflies hovered over the gay flowers, where the birds were caroling, the bees humming busily, and everywhere rich, active life was going on, full of joy and brightness for him who had eyes to see and ears to hear. On rainy days all that was changed. Then the portraits on the wall could tell each other undisturbed old, old stories, to their hearts' content, and the curious sunlight would never so much as see them blush; then even the sparrows were at peace for a time, or fought at least in silence for the best and the driest places, and in the garden the flowers hung their rain-washed heads, and all the rich, gay life looked as if it had died out. In the wet walks and over the parterres cold winds played with each other, and mercilessly tore pretty, delicate flowers to pieces, and upset tall beanpoles, and swept up the trees to shake the branches, and make an infinite ado.