The Processionary: the Procession 



Heat comes, just as suddenly as the cold 

 did. To-day, the 4th of February, is a beauti- 

 ful, mild day. The greenhouse is full of 

 life. Numerous festoons of caterpillars, is- 

 suing from the nests, meander along the sand 

 on the shelf. Above them, at every moment, 

 the ring on the ledge of the vase breaks up 

 and comes together again. For the first time 

 I see daring leaders who, drunk with heat, 

 standing only on their hinder prolegs at the 

 extreme edge of the earthenware rim, fling 

 themselves forward into space, twisting about, 

 sounding the depths. The endeavour is fre- 

 quently repeated, while the whole troop stops. 

 The caterpillars' heads give sudden jerks; 

 their bodies wriggle. 



One of the pioneers decides to take the 

 plunge. He slips under the ledge. Four fol- 

 low him. The others, still confiding in the 

 perfidious silken path, dare not copy him and 

 continue to go along the old road. 



The short string detached from the general 

 chain gropes about a great deal, hesitates long 

 on the side of the vase; it goes half-way down, 

 then climbs up again slantwise, rejoins and 

 takes its place in the procession. This time 

 the attempt has failed, though at the foot of 



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