The Life of the Grasshopper 



centuries has taught them nothing about the 

 terrible cut-throat. The Thomisus, on her 

 side, waits motionless on a spike of lavender, 

 near the honey. Her four front legs, which 

 are longer than the others, are spread out 

 and slightly raised, in readiness for attack. 



A Bee comes to drink at the drop of honey. 

 This is the moment. The Spider springs 

 forward and with her fangs seizes the im- 

 prudent one by the tip of the wings, while 

 her legs hold the victim in a tight embrace. 

 A few seconds pass, during which the Bee 

 struggles as best she can against the ag- 

 gressor on her back, out of the reach of her 

 dagger. This fight at close quarters cannot 

 last long; the Bee would release herself from 

 the other's grip. And so the Spider lets go 

 the wing and suddenly bites her prey in the 

 back of the neck. Once the fangs drive 

 home, it is all over: death ensues. The Bee 

 is slain. Of her turbulent activity naught 

 lingers but some faint quivers of the tarsi, 

 final convulsions which are soon at an end. 



Still holding her prey by the nape of the 

 neck, the Thomisus feasts not on the body, 

 which remains intact, but on the blood, which 

 is slowly sucked. When the neck is drained 

 dry, another spot is attacked, on the ab- 



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