is a Mole no longer, but a greenish horror, putrid, hairless,
shrunk into a sort of fat, greasy rasher. The thing must have
undergone careful manipulation to be thus condensed into a small
volume, like a fowl in the hands of the cook, and, above all, to be so
completely deprived of its furry coat. Is this culinary procedure
undertaken in respect of the larvae, which might be incommoded by the
fur? Or is it just a casual result, a mere loss of hair due to
putridity? I am not certain. But it is always the case that these
exhumations, from first to last, have revealed the furry game furless
and the feathered game featherless, except for the pinion- and
tail-feathers. Reptiles and fish, on the other hand, retain their
scales.

Let us return to the unrecognizable thing that was once a Mole. The
tit-bit lies in a spacious crypt, with firm walls, a regular workshop,
worthy of being the bake-house of a Copris. Except for the fur, which
lies scattered about in flocks, it is intact. The grave-diggers have
not eaten into it: it is the patrimony of the sons, not the provision
of the parents, who, to sustain themselves, levy at most a few
mouthfuls of the ooze of putrid humours.

Beside the dish which they are kneading and protecting are two
Necrophori; a couple, no more. Four collaborated in the burial. What
has become of the other two, both males? I find them hidden in the
soil, at a distance, almost on the surface.

This observation is not an isolated one. Whenever I am present at a
funeral undertaken by a squad in which the males, zealous one and all,
predominate, I find presently, when the burial is completed, only one
couple in the mortuary cellar. After lending their assistance, the
rest have discreetly retired.

These grave-diggers, in truth, are remarkable fathers. They have
nothing of the happy-go-lucky paternal carelessness that is the
general rule among insects, which pester the mother for a moment with
their attentions and then leave her to care for the offspring! But
those who would be idlers in the other castes here labour valiantly,
now in the interest of their own family, now in that of another's,
without distinction. If a couple is in difficulties, helpers arrive,
attracted by the odour of carrion; anxious to serve a lady, they creep
under the body, work at it with back and claw, bury it and then go
their ways, leaving the master and mistress of the house to their
happiness.

For some time longer these two m