X THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC 135 



yourself in the sun just to watch flies. I keep my eye 

 on you, you know, and the first time. . . . Well, that's 

 enough." He departed. I have always believed 

 that my red ribbon had a good deal to do with this 

 departure, and I ascribe to that ribbon other simi- 

 lar services during my botanical or entomological 

 rambles. It seemed to me — was it an illusion ? — it 

 did seem to me that during my botanical expeditions 

 on Mont Ventoux, the guide was more manageable 

 than usual and the donkey less obstinate. 



The little dark red ribbon has not always pro- 

 tected me from the tribulations the entomologist 

 must expect when carrying on experiments upon the 

 highway. Since dawn I had been lying in ambush 

 at the bottom of a ravine ; Sphex occitanica was the 

 object of my early visit. A party of three women 

 vintagers passed on their way to work. A glance 

 was cast on the seated figure apparently lost in 

 thought. " Good day " was politely offered and 

 politely answered. At sunset the women returned 

 with full baskets. The man was still there, seated 

 on the same stone, his eyes fixed on the same spot. 

 My motionless figure, my persistent stay in that 

 lonely place, must have struck them greatly. As 

 they passed I saw one tap her forehead, and heard 

 her whisper, " A poor innocent, pe'caire ! a poor 

 innocent ! " and all three made the sign of the cross. 



An innocent, an idiot, a poor inoffensive creature 

 who is deficient ; and all three crossed themselves — 

 an idiot being one to them marked by God's seal. 

 " How ? " said I. " What cruel mockery of fate ! 

 You who are labouring to discover what is instinct 

 and what reason in the animal ; you yourself are a 



