The Collaborators 



the table of my insect laboratory. I forthwith 

 cloister her, still damp with the humours of the 

 hatching, under a wire-gauze bell-jar. For the 

 rest, I cherish no particular plans. I incarcerate 

 her from mere habit, the habit of the observer al- 

 ways on the look-out for what may happen. 



It was a lucky thought. At nine o'clock in the 

 evening, just as the household is going to bed, there 

 is a great stir in the room next to mine. Little 

 Paul, half-undressed, is rushing about, jumping 

 and stamping, knocking the chairs over like a mad 

 thing. I hear him call me: 



"Come quick!" he screams. "Come and see 

 these Moths, big as birds! The room is full of 

 them!" 



I hurry in. There is enough to justify the 

 child's enthusiastic and hyperbolical exclamations, 

 an invasion as yet unprecedented in our house, a 

 raid of giant Moths. Four are already caught 

 and lodged in a bird-cage. Others, more numer- 

 ous, are fluttering on the ceiling. 



At this sight, the prisoner of the morning is re- 

 called to my mind. 



Put on your things, laddie," I say to my son. 



Leave your cage and come with me. We shall 

 see something interesting." 



We run downstairs to go to my study, which 

 occupies the right wing of the house. In the 

 kitchen I find the servant, who is also bewildered 

 by what is happening and stands flicking her apron 

 at great Moths whom she took at first for Bats. 



The Great Peacock, it would seem, has taken 



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