he larva. Presently both sloughs, those of the
Sitaris and the egg, will disappear, submerged under the waves of
honey which the new larva is about to raise. Here ends the history of
the first form adopted by the Sitaris.

In summing up the above, we see that the strange little creature
awaits, without food, for seven months, the appearance of the
Anthophorae and at last fastens on to the hairs on the corselet of the
males, who are the first to emerge and who inevitably pass within its
reach in going through their corridors. From the fleece of the male
the larva moves, three or four weeks later, to that of the female, at
the moment of coupling; and then from the female to the egg leaving
the oviduct. It is by this concatenation of complex manoeuvres that
the larva in the end finds itself perched upon an egg in the middle of
a closed cell filled with honey. These perilous gymnastics on the hair
of a Bee in movement all the day, this passing from one sex to the
other, this arrival in the middle of the cell by way of the egg, a
dangerous bridge thrown across the sticky abyss, all this necessitates
the balancing-appliances with which it is provided and which I have
described above. Lastly, the destruction of the egg calls, in its
turn, for a sharp pair of scissors; and such is the object of the
keen, curved mandibles. Thus the primary form of the Sitares has as
its function to get itself carried by the Anthophora into the cell and
to rip up her egg. This done, the organism becomes transformed to such
a degree that repeated observations are required to make us believe
the evidence of our eyes.

CHAPTER IV
THE PRIMARY LARVA OF THE OIL-BEETLES

I interrupt the history of the Sitares to speak of the Meloes, those
uncouth Beetles, with their clumsy belly and their limp wing-cases
yawning over their back like the tails of a fat man's coat that is far
too tight for its wearer. The insect is ugly in colouring, which is
black, with an occasional blue gleam, and uglier still in shape and
gait; and its disgusting method of defence increases the repugnance
with which it inspires us. If it judges itself to be in danger, the
Meloe resorts to spontaneous bleeding. From its joints a yellowish,
oily fluid oozes, which stains your fingers and makes them stink. This
is the creature's blood. The English, because of its trick of
discharging oily blood when on the defensive, call this insect the
Oil-beetle. It would not be a particul