FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



the enclosure, whereas I always see her very quiet and 

 absorbed. 



To make certain, I have inspected my glass jars at 

 different times. She could go lower down in the sand 

 and hide anywhere she pleased, if rest were what she 

 wanted; she could climb outside and sit down to fresh 

 food, if refreshment became necessary. Neither the 

 prospect of rest in a deeper cave nor the thought of the 

 sun and of food -makes her leave her family. Until the 

 last of them has burst his shell she sticks to her post. 

 I always find her beside her cradles. 



For four months she is without food of any kind. 

 She was no better than a glutton at first, when there was 

 no family to consider, but now she becomes self-denying 

 to the point of prolonged fasting. The Hen sitting on 

 her eggs forgets to eat for some weeks; the watchful 

 Copris mother forgets food for a third part of the year. 



The summer is over. The rains so greatly desired 

 by man and beast have come at last, soaking the ground 

 to some depth. After the torrid and dusty days of our 

 Provencal summer, when life is in suspense, we have 

 the coolness that revives it. The heath puts out its 

 first pink bells; the autumnal squill lifts its little spike 

 of lilac flowers; the strawberry-tree's coral bells begin 

 to soften; the Sacred Beetle and the Copris burst their 



[us] 



