on. The moment that the Fly comes within
reach, the watchful Devilkin turns her head, bends the stalk of her
corselet slantwise and, flinging out her fore-limb, harpoons the Fly
and grips her between her two saws. No Cat pouncing upon a Mouse could
be quicker.

The game, however small, is enough for a meal. It is enough for the
whole day, often for several days. This is my first surprise: the
extreme abstemiousness of these fiercely-armed insects. I was prepared
for ogres: I find ascetics satisfied with a meagre collation at rare
intervals. A Fly fills their belly for twenty-four hours at least.

Thus passes the late autumn: the Empusae, more and more temperate from
day to day, hang motionless from the wire gauze. Their natural
abstinence is my best ally, for Flies grow scarce; and a time comes
when I should be hard put to it to keep the menageries supplied with
provisions.

During the three winter months, nothing stirs. From time to time, on
fine days, I expose the cage to the sun's rays, in the window. Under
the influence of this heat-bath, the captives stretch their legs a
little, sway from side to side, make up their minds to move about, but
without displaying any awakening appetite. The rare Midges that fall to
my assiduous efforts do not appear to tempt them. It is a rule for them
to spend the cold season in a state of complete abstinence.

My cages tell me what must happen outside, during the winter. Ensconced
in the crannies of the rockwork, in the sunniest places, the young
Empusae wait, in a state of torpor, for the return of the hot weather.
Notwithstanding the shelter of a heap of stones, there must be painful
moments when the frost is prolonged and the snow penetrates little by
little into the best-protected crevices. No matter: hardier than they
look, the refugees escape the dangers of the winter season. Sometimes,
when the sun is strong, they venture out of their hiding-place and come
to see if spring be nigh.

Spring comes. We are in March. My prisoners bestir themselves, change
their skin. They need victuals. My catering difficulties recommence.
The House-fly, so easy to catch, is lacking in these days. I fall back
upon earlier Diptera: Eristales, or Drone-flies. The Empusa refuses
them. They are too big for her and can offer too strenuous a
resistance. She wards off their approach with blows of her mitre.

A few tender morsels, in the shape of very young Grasshoppers, are
readily accepted. Unfor