Well, I have six hours before me yet.

By making good use of them, perhaps--to work! to work!" He was preparing to put on an overcoat, originally of a long-haired, woolly fabric, but now completely bald from age, when suddenly, as if bitten by a tarantula, he began to execute around the room a polka of his own composition, which at the public balls had often caused him to be honoured with the particular attention of the police.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "it is surprising how the morning air gives one ideas! It strikes me that I am on the scent of my air; Let's see." And, half-dressed as he was, Schaunard seated himself at his piano.

After having waked the sleeping instrument by a terrific hurly-burly of notes, he began, talking to himself all the while, to hunt over the keys for the tune he had long been seeking.
"Do, sol, mi, do la, si, do re.

Bah! it's as false as Judas, that re!" and he struck violently on the doubtful note.

"We must represent adroitly the grief of a young person picking to pieces a white daisy over a blue lake.