The Hunting Wasps 



egg laid upon it. With her front tarsi, she 

 brushes her doorstep, working backwards 

 and sweeping into the entrance a stream of 

 dust which passes under her belly and spurts 

 behind in a parabolic spray as continuous as a 

 liquid spray, so nimble is the sweeper in her 

 actions. From time to time, the Sphex picks 

 out with her mandibles a few grains of sand, 

 so many solid blocks which she inserts one 

 by one into the mass of dust, causing it all 

 to cake together by beating and compressing 

 it with her forehead and mandibles. Walled 

 up by this masonry, the entrance-door soon 

 disappears from sight. 



I intervene in the middle of the work. 

 Pushing the Sphex aside, I carefully clear the 

 short gallery with the blade of a knife, take 

 away the materials that close it and restore 

 full communication between the cell and the 

 outside. Then, with my forceps, without 

 damaging the edifice, I take the Ephippiger 

 from the cell, where she lies with her head at 

 the back and her ovipositor towards the en- 

 trance. The Wasp's egg is on the victim's 

 breast, at the usual place, the root of one of 

 the hinder thighs : a proof that the Sphex was 

 giving the finishing touch to the burrow, with 

 the intention of never returning. 

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