n he resumes his flight,
alternately coming and going.

What are they waiting for? What are they seeking in these evolutions
of theirs, which are repeated a hundred times over? Food? No, for close
beside them stand several eryngo-stems, whose sturdy clusters are the
Wasps' usual resource at this season of parched vegetation; and not one
of them settles upon the flowers, not one of them seems to care about
their sugary exudations. Their attention is engrossed elsewhere. It
is the ground, it is the stretch of sand which they are so assiduously
exploring; what they are waiting for is the arrival of some female, who
bursting the cocoon, may appear from one moment to the next, issuing all
dusty from the ground. She will not be given time to brush herself or to
wash her eyes: three or four more of them will be there at once, eager
to dispute her possession. I am too familiar with the amorous contests
of the Hymenopteron clan to allow myself to be mistaken. It is the rule
for the males, who are the earlier of the two, to keep a close guard
around the natal spot and watch for the emergence of the females, whom
they pester with their pursuit the moment they reach the light of day.
This is the motive of the interminable ballet of my Scoliae. Let us have
patience: perhaps we shall witness the nuptials.

The hours go by; the Pangoniae and the Gad-flies desert my umbrella; the
Scoliae grow weary and gradually disappear. It is finished. I shall see
nothing more to-day. I repeat my laborious expedition to the Bois des
Issards over and over again; and each time I see the males as assiduous
as ever in skimming over the ground. My perseverance deserved to
succeed. It did, though the success was very incomplete. Let me describe
it, such as it was; the future will fill up the gaps.

A female issues from the soil before my eyes. She flies away, followed
by several males. With the luchet I dig at the point of emergence; and,
as the excavation progresses, I sift between my fingers the rubbish of
sand mixed with mould. In the sweat of my brow, as I may justly say, I
must have removed nearly a cubic yard of material, when at last I make
a find. This is a recently ruptured cocoon, to the side of which adheres
an empty skin, the last remnant of the game on which the larva fed that
wrought the said cocoon. Considering the good condition of its silken
fabric, this cocoon may have belonged to the Scolia who has just quitted
her underground dwellin