The Processionary : Meteorology 



all three enter the greenhouse. The visitors 

 are eager for the spectacle of which they have 

 heard such wonderful things, while I am cert- 

 ain of satisfying their curiosity. 



But, but ... what is this? Not a cater- 

 pillar on the nests, not one on the fresh ration 

 of branches! Last night and on the previous 

 nights they came out in countless numbers; 

 to-night not one reveals himself. Can it be 

 that they are merely late in going to dinner? 

 Can their habitual punctuality be at fault be- 

 cause appetite has not yet arrived? We must 

 be patient. . . . Ten o'clock. Nothing. 

 Eleven. Still nothing. Midnight was at hand 

 when we abandoned our watch, convinced that 

 it would be vain to prolong the sitting. You 

 can imagine what an abject fool I looked 

 at having thus to send my guests away. 



Next day I thought that I dimly perceived 

 the explanation of this disappointment. It 

 rained in the night and again in the morning. 

 Snow, not the earliest of the year, but so 

 far the most abundant, whitened the brow of 

 the Ventoux. 1 Had the caterpillars, more 



1 The highest mountain in the neighbourhood of 

 Serignan. Cf. The Hunting Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, 

 translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap, xl 

 Translator's .Vote. 



99 



