The Volucella 



ness, the grub is not exempt from the physio- 

 logical ills inseparable from the work of the 

 stomach. Like all that eats, it has intesti- 

 nal waste matter in regard to which its con- 

 finement compels it to behave with extreme 

 discretion. Like so many other close-cab- 

 ined larvae of Wasps and Bees, it waits until 

 the moment of the transformation to rid it- 

 self of its digestive refuse. Then, once and 

 for all, it casts out the unclean accumulation 

 whereof the pupa, that delicate, reborn or- 

 ganism, must not retain the least trace. 

 This is found later, in any empty cell, in the 

 form of a dark-purple plug. But, without 

 waiting for this final purge, this lump, there 

 are, from time to time, slight excretions of 

 fluid, clear as water. We have only to keep 

 a Wasp-grub in a little glass tube to recog- 

 nize these occasional discharges. Well, I 

 see nothing else to explain the action of the 

 Volucella's grubs when they dip into the cells 

 without wounding the larvae. They are 

 looking for this liquid, they provoke its emis- 

 sion. It represents to them a dainty which 

 they enjoy over and above the more sub- 

 stantial fare provided by the corpses. 



The Volucella, that sanitary Inspector of 

 the Vesplan city, fulfils a double office: she 

 gives the Wasp's children a wipe down; and 

 30s 



