y of the
harmas. (The enclosed piece of waste land on which the author studied
his insects in their native state. Cf. "The Life of the Fly," by
J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter
1.--Translator's Note.) I can still see the intrepid poacher dragging by
the leg, at the foot of a wall, the monstrous prize which she had just
secured, doubtless at no great distance. At the base of the wall was a
hole, an accidental chink between some of the stones. The Wasp inspected
the cavern, not for the first time: she had already reconnoitred it
and the premises had satisfied her. The prey, deprived of the power of
movement, was waiting somewhere, I know not where; and the huntress had
gone back to fetch it and store it away. It was at this moment that
I met her. The Pompilus gave a last glance at the cave, removed a few
small fragments of loose mortar; and with that her preparations were
completed. The Lycosa (The Spider in question is known indifferently
as the Black-bellied Tarantula and the Narbonne Lycosa.--Translator's
Note.) was introduced, dragged along, belly upwards, by one leg. I
did not interfere. Presently the Wasp reappeared on the surface and
carelessly pushed in front of the hole the bits of mortar which she had
just extracted from it. Then she flew away. It was all over. The egg was
laid; the insect had finished for better or for worse; and I was able to
proceed with my examination of the burrow and its contents.

The Pompilus has done no digging. It is really an accidental hole with
spacious winding passages, the result of the mason's negligence and not
of the Wasp's industry. The closing of the cavity is quite as rough and
summary. A few crumbs of mortar, heaped up before the doorway, form a
barricade rather than a door. A mighty hunter makes a poor architect.
The Tarantula's murderess does not know how to dig a cell for her larva;
she does not know how to fill up the entrance by sweeping dust into it.
The first hole encountered at the foot of a wall contents her, provided
that it be roomy enough; a little heap of rubbish will do for a door.
Nothing could be more expeditious.

I withdraw the game from the hole. The egg is stuck to the Spider, near
the beginning of the belly. A clumsy movement on my part makes it fall
off at the moment of extraction. It is all over: the thing will not
hatch; I shall not be able to observe the development of the larva. The
Tarantula lies motionless, fle