ut
she hoped that one day or other Mr. Birne would give warning. It was on
that she had set her heart. The Englishman, on his part, began by
establishing a school of drummers in his drawing room, but the police
interfered. He then set up a pistol gallery; his servants riddled fifty
cards a day. Again the commissary of police interposed, showing him an
article in the municipal code, which forbids the usage of firearms
indoors. Mr. Birne stopped firing, but a week after, Dolores found it
was raining in her room. The landlord went to visit Mr. Birne, and found
him taking saltwater baths in his drawing room. This room, which was
very large, had been lined all round with sheets of metal, and had had
all the doors fastened up. Into this extempore pond some hundred pails
of water were poured, and a few tons of salt were added to them. It was
a small edition of the sea. Nothing was lacking, not even fishes. Mr.
Birne bathed there everyday, descending into it by an opening made in
the upper panel of the center door. Before long an ancient and fish-like
smell pervaded the neighborhood, and Dolores had half an inch of water
in her bedroom.

The landlord grew furious and threatened Mr. Birne with an action for
damages done to his property.

"Have I not a right," asked the Englishman, "to bathe in my rooms?"

"Not in that way, sir."

"Very well, if I have no right to, I won't," said the Briton, full of
respect for the laws of the country in which he lived. "It's a pity; I
enjoyed it very much."

That very night he had his ocean drained off. It was full time: there
was already an oyster bed forming on the floor.

However, Mr. Birne had not given up the contest. He was only seeking
some legal means of continuing his singular warfare, which was "nuts" to
all the Paris loungers, for the adventure had been blazed about in the
lobbies of the theaters and other public places. Dolores felt equally
bound to come triumphant out of the contest. Not a few bets were made
upon it.

It was then that Mr. Birne thought of the piano as an instrument of
warfare. It was not so bad an idea, the most disagreeable of instruments
being well capable of contending against the most disagreeable of birds.
As soon as this lucky thought occurred to him, he hastened to put it
into execution, hired a piano, and inquired for a pianist. The pianist,
it will be remembered, was our friend Schaunard. The Englishman
recounted to him his sufferings from the parr