198 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT 



the net quivering; the Spider, on her side, does not stir, 

 as though heedless of events. 



The idea might occur to one that, in this business, the 

 Epeira stays motionless in her cabin since she is pre- 

 vented from hurrying down, because the foot-bridge is 

 broken. Let us undeceive ourselves: for one road open 

 to her there are a hundred, all ready to bring her to the 

 place where her presence is now required. The network 

 is fastened to the branches by a host of lines, all of them 

 very easy to cross. Well, the Epeira embarks upon none 

 of them, but remains moveless and self-absorbed. 



Why? Because her telegraph, being out of order, no 

 longer tells her of the shaking of the web. The captured 

 prey is too far off for her to see it ; she is all unwitting. 

 A good hour passes, with the Locust still kicking, the 

 Spider impassive, myself watching. Nevertheless, in the 

 end, the Epeira wakes up: no longer feeling the signal- 

 ing-thread, broken by my scissors, as taut as usual under 

 her legs, she comes to look into the state of things. The 

 web is reached, without the least difficulty, by one of the 

 lines of the framework, the first that offers. The Locust 

 is then perceived and forthwith enswathed, after which 

 the signaling-thread is remade, taking the place of the 

 one which I have broken. Along this road the Spider 

 goes home, dragging her prey behind her. 



My neighbor, the mighty Angular Epeira, with her 

 telegraph-wire nine feet long, has even better things in 

 store for me. One morning I find her web, which is 

 now deserted, almost intact, a proof that the night's 

 hunting has not been good. The animal must be hungry. 



