The Processionary : the Procession 



that on the morrow things will have resumed 

 their ordinary course. 



I was wrong. I was expecting too much 

 of them when I accorded them that faint 

 gleam of intelligence which the tribulations of 

 a distressful stomach ought, one would think, 

 to have aroused. I visit them at dawn. They 

 are lined up as on the day before, but motion- 

 less. When the air grows a little warmer, 

 they shake off their torpor, revive and start 

 walking again. The circular procession be- 

 gins anew, like that which I have already 

 seen. There is nothing more and nothing less 

 to be noted in their machine-like obstinacy. 



This time it is a bitter night. A cold snap 

 has supervened, was indeed foretold in the 

 evening by the garden caterpillars, who re- 

 fused to come out despite appearances which 

 to my duller senses seemed to promise a con- 

 tinuation of the fine weather. At daybreak 

 the rosemary-walks are all asparkle with rime 

 and for the second time this year there is a 

 sharp frost. The large pond in the garden 

 is frozen over. What can the caterpillars in 

 the conservatory be doing? Let us go and 

 see. 



All are ensconced in their nests, except the 



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