The Haricot-Weevil 



lanne, in the Bouches-du-Rhone, what I was 

 vainly seeking in my neighbourhood, 

 although I cross-examined both farmers and 

 housewives, astonishing them greatly by my 

 questions. No one had ever seen the pest 

 of the haricots; no one had ever heard of it. 

 Friends who knew of my enquiries sent me 

 from Maillanne, as I have said, the where- 

 withal to satisfy fully my curiosity as a na- 

 turalist. It consisted of a bushel of hari- 

 cots outrageously spoilt, riddled with holes, 

 changed into a sort of sponge and swarming 

 inside with innumerable Bruchi, which re- 

 called the Lentil-weevil by their diminutive 

 size. 



The senders told me of the damage 

 suffered at Maillanne. The odious insect, 

 they said, had destroyed the best part of the 

 crop. A veritable plague, the like of which 

 had never been known before, had fallen 

 upon the haricots, leaving the housekeeper 

 hardly any with which to garnish her stew. 

 Of the culprit's habits, of its way of going to 

 work nothing was known. It was for me to 

 find out this by experiment. 



Quick, then, let us experiment! Cir- 

 cumstances favour me. We are in the 

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