CHAPTER XII 



THE OSMLE 



Their Habits 



February has its sunny days, heralding spring, to which 

 rude winter will reluctantly yield place. In snug corners, 

 among the rocks, the great spurge of our district, the 

 char arias of the Greeks, the jusclo of the Provencals, 

 begins to lift its drooping inflorescence and discreetly 

 opens a few somber flowers. Here the first Midges of 

 the year will come to slake their thirst. By the time that 

 the tip of the stalks reaches the perpendicular, the worst 

 of the cold weather will be over. 



Another eager one, the almond-tree, risking the loss 

 of its fruit, hastens to echo these preludes to the festival 

 of the sun, preludes which are too often treacherous. 

 A few days of soft skies and it becomes a glorious dome 

 of white flowers, each twinkling with a roseate eye. The 

 country, which still lacks green, seems dotted everywhere 

 with white-satin pavilions. 'T would be a callous heart 

 indeed that could resist the magic of this awakening. 



The insect nation is represented at these rites by a 

 few of its more zealous members. There is first of all 

 the Honey-bee, the sworn enemy of strikes, who profits 

 by the least lull of winter to find out if some rosemary 



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