The Life of the Caterpillar 



Thanks to these precautions, my charges have 

 all the appearance of excellent health; they 

 drink and thrive. But this state of things can- 

 not last long. Soon ripe for the transform- 

 ation, my grubs leave the dining-room of the 

 watch-glass as they would have left the cater- 

 pillar's belly; they come to the ground to try 

 and weave their tiny cocoons. They fail in 

 the attempt and perish. They have missed a 

 suitable support, that is to say, the silky 

 carpet provided by the dying caterpillar. No 

 matter: I have seen enough to convince me. 

 The larvae of the Microgaster do not eat in 

 the strict sense of the word: they live on 

 soup; and that soup is the caterpillar's 

 blood. 



Examine the parasites closely and you shall 

 see that their diet is bound to be a liquid one. 

 They are little white grubs, neatly segmented, 

 with a pointed fore-part splashed with tiny 

 black marks, as though the atom had been 

 slaking its thirst in a drop of ink. It moves 

 its hind-quarters slowly, without shifting its 

 position. I place it under the microscope. 

 The mouth is a pore, devoid of any apparatus 

 for disintegration-work: it has no fangs, no 

 horny nippers, no mandibles; its attack is just 

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