Fa, mi, la, sol," continued Schaunard, rattling over the keys.

"Lastly, an adieu of the young girl, who determines to throw herself into the blue lake, to rejoin her beloved who is buried under the snow.

The catastrophe is not very perspicuous, but decidedly interesting.

We must have something tender, melancholy.

It's coming, it's coming! Here are a dozen bars crying like Magdalens, enough to split one's heart--Brr, brr!" and Schaunard shivered in his spangled petticoat, "if it could only split one's wood! There's a beam in my alcove which bothers me a good deal when I have company at dinner.