CHAPTER VIII 



THE VINE-WEEVIL 



TN the spring, while the poplar-leaves are 

 being worked into cylinders, another 

 Rhynchites, who is likewise magnificently 

 attired, is making cigars out of vine-leaves. 

 She is a little bigger, of a metallic lustre, a 

 golden green that changes to blue. Were 

 she only larger, the resplendent Vine-Weevil 

 would occupy a very respectable place among 

 the gems of entomology. 



To attract our eyes, she has something 

 better than her brilliancy: she has her in- 

 dustry, which has earned her the hatred of 

 the vine-grower, jealous of his property. 

 The peasant knows her: he even calls her by 

 a special name, an honour rarely bestowed 

 in the world of the smaller creatures. 



The rural vocabulary is rich in names of 



plants, but very poor in names of insects. A 



couple of dozen words, inextricably confused 



because of their general character, represent 



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