course toward the earth, where they might find
shelter under the stones at the fall of the first drop of rain. Then the
little ones, more experienced, began, under the guidance of their
father, to undertake longer flights. The mother, standing at the
entrance of the nest, seemed to give her instructions before they
departed: she awaited their return with anxiety, and when that was
delayed, took a flight high, very high in the air, and there flew to and
fro till she saw them. Then, full of a mother's joy, she would utter
cries of emotion, scud before them, bring them back to the nest, happy
and palpitating, and seemed to demand an account of the causes of their
delay.

The autumn arrived. Some groups of swallows collected together on the
very roof of the mansion of Fiquanville. After grave deliberation, and a
vote being taken (whether by ballot or otherwise, Cuvier does not
mention), the young ones of the nest, along with the other young
swallows of the same age, were all placed in the middle of the troop;
and one morning a living cloud rose above the chateau, and flew away
swiftly due east.

The following spring two swallows, worn down by fatigue, came to take
possession of the nest. Cuvier recognized them immediately; they were
the very same--those whose manners and habits he had studied the
preceding year. They proceeded to restore the nest, cracked and injured
in some places by the frost: they garnished anew the inside with fresh
feathers and choice moss, then, as last year, made an excursion of some
days. On the very morrow after their return, while they were darting to
and fro close to Cuvier's window, to whose presence they had become
accustomed, and which did not in the least incommode them, a
screech-owl, that seemed to fall from above, pounced upon the male,
seized him in his talons, and was already bearing him away, when Cuvier
took down his gun, which was within reach, primed and cocked it, and
fired at the owl; the fellow, mortally wounded, fell head over heels
into the garden, and Cuvier hastened to deliver the swallow from the
claws of the dead owl, who still held him with his formidable nails. The
poor swallow had received some deep wounds; the nails of the owl had
penetrated deeply into his side, and one of the drops of shot had broken
his leg. Cuvier dressed the wounds as well as he could, and, by the aid
of a ladder, replaced the invalid in his nest, while the female flew
sadly around it, uttering c