Of this, however, Mr.Schroeter took no notice.
Thus the winter passed away, and signs of spring penetrated even here.
The visitors no longer brought in snow-flakes, but left brown footmarks.
The brokers began to speak of the yellow blossoms of the olive, and at length Mr.Braun came in with a rose in his button-hole.
A year was gone since Anton crossed the little lake with the fleet of swans behind him.

The whole year through he had thought of that one day..