216 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



of housekeeping, or else drowsing, she waits for her 

 daughters to come out. When, in the summer heats, the 

 life of the colony recommences, having naught to do 

 outside as a harvester, she stands sentry at the entrance 

 to the hall, so as to let none in save the workers of the 

 home, her own daughters. She wards off the ill-inten- 

 tioned. None can enter without the door-keeper's con- 

 sent. 



There is nothing to tell us that the watcher at moments 

 deserts her post. I never see her leave her house to go 

 and refresh herself at the flowers. Her age and her 

 sedentary occupation, which imphes no great fatigue, 

 relieve her perhaps of the need of nourishment. Perhaps, 

 also, the young ones returning from pillage disgorge a 

 drop of the contents of their crops for her benefit, 

 from time to time. Fed or not, the old one no longer 

 goes out. 



But what she does need is the joys of an active family. 

 Many are deprived of these. The Dipteron's burglary 

 has destroyed the household. The sorely-tried Bees then 

 abandon the deserted burrow. It is these who, ragged 

 and careworn, wander through the hamlet. They move 

 in short flights ; more often, they remain motionless. It 

 is they who, embittered in their natures, offer violence to 

 their acquaintances and seek to dislodge them. They 

 grow rarer and more languid from day to day ; then they 

 disappear for good. What has become of them ? The 

 little grey lizard had his eye on them : they are easy 

 mouthfuls. 



Those settled in their own demesne, those who guard 

 the honey-factory wherein their daughters, the heiresses 

 of the maternal establishment, work display a wonderful 

 vigilance. The more I visit them, the more I admire 



