testable
reputation.

[Footnote 1: For the habits of the White or Languedocian Scorpion, cf.
_The Life and Love of the Insect_: chaps. xvii. and
xviii.--_Translator's Note_.]

On the effects of its sting I personally have nothing to say, having
always avoided, by a little caution, the danger to which my relations
with the formidable captives in my study might have exposed me.
Knowing nothing of it myself, I get people to tell me of it,
wood-cutters in particular, who from time to time fall victims to
their imprudence. One of them tells me the following story:

"After having my dinner, I was dozing for a moment among my faggots,
when I was roused by a sharp pain. It was like the prick of a red-hot
needle. I clapped my hand to the place. Sure enough, there was
something moving! A Scorpion had crept under my trousers and stung me
in the lower part of the calf. The ugly beast was full as long as my
finger. Like that, sir, like that!"

And, adding gesture to speech, the worthy man extended his great
fore-finger. This size did not surprise me: while insect-hunting, I
have seen Scorpions as large.

"I wanted to go on with my work," he continued, "but I came out in a
cold sweat; and my leg swelled up so you could see it swelling. It got
as big as that, sir, as big as that."

More mimicry. Our friend spreads his two hands round his leg, at a
distance, so as to denote the girth of a small barrel:

"Yes, like that, sir, like that; I had great trouble to get home,
though it was only half a mile away. The swelling crept up and up.
Next day it had got so high."

A gesture indicates the height.

"Yes, sir, for three days I couldn't stand up. I bore it as well as I
could, with my leg stretched out on a chair. Soda-compresses did the
trick; and there you are, sir, there you are."

Another woodcutter, he adds, was also stung in the lower part of the
leg. He was binding faggots together at some distance and had not the
strength to regain his home. He collapsed by the side of the road.
Some men passing by carried him on their shoulders:

"_A la cabro morto, moussu, a la cabro morto!_"

The story of the rustic narrator, more versed in mimicry than in
speech, does not seem to me exaggerated. A White Scorpion's sting is a
very serious accident for a human being. When stung by his own kind,
the Scorpion himself quickly succumbs. Here I have something better
than the evidence of strangers: I have my own observations.

I take t