The Life of the Caterpillar 



short of suitors. So, when the morning sun, 

 already hot, strikes the cage, a very singular 

 spectacle is repeated many times before my 

 eyes. The entrance to the vestibule swells 

 imperceptibly, opens and emits a mass of in- 

 finitely delicate down. A Spider's web, 

 carded and made into wadding, would give 

 nothing of such gossamer fineness. It is a 

 vaporous cloud. Then, from out of this in- 

 comparable eiderdown, appear the head and 

 fore-part of a very different sort of caterpil- 

 lar from the original collector of straws. 



It is the mistress of the house, the mar- 

 riageable Moth, who, feeling her hour about 

 to come and failing to receive the expected 

 visit, herself makes the advances and goes, as 

 far as she can, to meet her plumed swain. 

 He does not come hastening up and for good 

 reason: there is not a male left in the esta- 

 blishment. For two or three hours the poor 

 forsaken one leans, without moving, from her 

 window. Then, tired of waiting, very gently 

 she goes indoors again, backwards, and re- 

 turns to her cell. 



Next day, the day after and later still, as 

 long as her strength permits, she reappears 

 on her balcony, always in the morning, in the 

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