A TRUFFLE-HUNTER 223 



is rare, flies off quickly when alarmed, and is lost to 

 view. To observe it closely under such conditions 

 would mean a loss of time and an assiduity of which 

 I do not feel capable. Another truffle-hunter will 

 show us what we could hardly learn from the fly. 



This is a pretty little black beetle, with a pale, velvety 

 abdomen ; a spherical insect, as large as a biggish 

 cherry-stone. Its official title is Bolhoceras gallicuSy 

 Muls. By rubbing the end of the abdomen against the 

 edge of the wing-cases it produces a gentle chirping 

 sound like the cheeping of nestlings when the mother- 

 bird returns to the nest with food. The male wears 

 a graceful horn on his head ; a duplicate, in little, of 

 that of the Copris hispaniis. 



Deceived by this horn, I at first took the insect for 

 a member of the corporation of dung-beetles, and as 

 such I reared it in captivity. I offered it the kind of 

 diet most appreciated by its supposed relatives, but 

 never, never would it touch such food. For whom did 

 I take it? Fie upon me ! To offer ordure to an 

 epicure I It required, if not precisely the truffle 

 known to our chefs and gourmets, at least its equivalent. 



This characteristic I grasped only after patient 

 investigation. At the southern foot of the hills of 

 Serignan, not far from the village, is a w^ood of mari- 

 time pines alternating with rows of cypress. There, 

 towards Toussaint, after the autumnal rains, you may 

 find an abundance of the mushrooms or " toadstools " 

 that affect the conifers ; especially the delicious Lactaris, 

 which turns green if the points are rubbed and drips 

 blood if broken. In the warm days of autumn this is 

 the favourite promenade of the members of my house- 



