The Ammophilae 



row, the Wasp has turned it into an inert 

 though still living mass. 



I have been permitted to watch the Am- 

 mophila operating with her scalpel on the 

 sturdy caterpillar and never did the intuitive 

 science of instinct show me anything more 

 exciting. With a friend — soon, alas, to be 

 snatched from me by death! — I was coming 

 back from the plateau of Les Angles to lay 

 snares for the Sacred Beetle and put his 

 skill to the test, when we caught sight of a 

 Hairy Ammophila very busily employed at 

 the foot of a tuft of thyme. We at once 

 lay down on the ground, close to where she 

 was working. Our presence did not frighten 

 the Wasp; in fact, she came and settled on 

 my sleeve for a moment, decided that her 

 two visitors were harmless, since they did 

 not move, and returned to her tuft of thyme. 

 As an old stager, I knew what that daring 

 familiarity meant: the Wasp's attention was 

 occupied with a serious business. We would 

 wait and see. 



The Ammophila scratched the ground at 



the foot of the plant, at the junction of root 



and stem, pulled up slender grass rootlets 



and poked her head under the little clods 



269 



