The Life of the Caterpillar 



this experimenting at the mercy of the sud- 

 den changes and deceptions of a short season I 



I begin all over again, for the third time. 

 I rear caterpillars, I scour the country in 

 search of cocoons. When May returns, I am 

 suitably provided. The weather is fine and 

 responds to my hopes. I once more see the 

 incursions which had struck me so powerfully 

 at the beginning, at the time of the historic 

 invasion which first led to my researches. 



Nightly the visitors turn up, in squads of 

 twelve, twenty or more. The female, a lusty, 

 big-bellied matron, clings firmly to the trellis- 

 work of the cage. She makes no movement, 

 gives not so much as a flutter of the wings, 

 seems indifferent to what is going on. Nor 

 is there any odour, so far as the most sensitive 

 nostrils in the household can judge, nor any 

 rustle perceptible to the most delicate hearing 

 among my family, all of whom are called in 

 to bear evidence. In motionless contempla- 

 tion she waits. 



The others, in twos or threes or more, flop 

 down upon the dome of the cage, run about 

 it briskly in every direction, lash it with the 

 tips of their wings in continual movement. 

 There are no affrays between rivals. With 



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