The Nest-building Odynerus 



We will try. I have plenty of Chryso- 

 mela-grubs, received from Orange; I keep 

 them under a wire-gauze dome, with an eye 

 to their metamorphoses and their perfume- 

 stills. The game is at hand; the huntress is 

 lacking. Where shall I catch her? I have 

 only to ask Claire, who will hasten to send 

 her. This is a sure expedient, but I hesi- 

 tate to employ it: I fear lest the insect 

 should reach me demoralized by the jolting 

 of the cart and the tedium of a long cap- 

 tivity. To this bored and wearied creature 

 an encounter with the Chrysomela will ak 

 most surely be a matter of indifference. I 

 must have something better: I want the in- 

 sect captured that moment with its aptitudes 

 in their prime. 



In front of my door is a field of yellow 

 fennel-flower, an ingredient of that ill- 

 famed liquor, absinthe. From its umbels 

 Wasps, Bees and Flies of all sorts drink 

 their fill. Let us take the net and see. 

 The banqueters are numerous. I inspect 

 the rows of plants amid the drinking-songs, 

 the buzzing and the shrilling of the insects. 

 Praise the Lord, here is the Odynerus! I 

 catch one, I catch two, I catch six of them 

 and I hurry back to my workroom. Fate 

 is favouring me beyond my desires: my 

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