was successfully resumed after my
departure.

The Clotho, who is not only nocturnal, but also excessively shy, conceals
her habits from us; she shows us her works, those precious historical
documents, but hides her actions, especially the laying, which I estimate
approximately to take place in October. The sum total of the eggs is
divided into five or six small, flat, lentiform pockets, which, taken
together, occupy the greater part of the maternal home. These capsules
have each their own partition-wall of superb white satin, but they are so
closely soldered, both together and to the floor of the house, that it is
impossible to part them without tearing them, impossible, therefore, to
obtain them separately. The eggs in all amount to about a hundred.

The mother sits upon the heap of pockets with the same devotion as a
brooding hen. Maternity has not withered her. Although decreased in
bulk, she retains an excellent look of health; her round belly and her
well-stretched skin tell us from the first that her part is not yet
wholly played.

The hatching takes place early. November has not arrived before the
pockets contain the young: wee things clad in black, with five yellow
specks, exactly like their elders. The new-born do not leave their
respective nurseries. Packed close together, they spend the whole of the
wintry season there, while the mother, squatting on the pile of cells,
watches over the general safety, without knowing her family other than by
the gentle trepidations felt through the partitions of the tiny chambers.
The Labyrinth Spider has shown us how she maintains a permanent sitting
for two months in her guard-room, to defend, in case of need, the brood
which she will never see. The Clotho does the same during eight months,
thus earning the right to set eyes for a little while on her family
trotting around her in the main cabin and to assist at the final exodus,
the great journey undertaken at the end of a thread.

When the summer heat arrives, in June, the young ones, probably aided by
their mother, pierce the walls of their cells, leave the maternal tent,
of which they know the secret outlet well, take the air on the threshold
for a few hours and then fly away, carried to some distance by a
funicular aeroplane, the first product of their spinning-mill.

The elder Clotho remains behind, careless of this emigration which leaves
her alone. She is far from being faded indeed, she looks younger t