118 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



On the morning of the next day, the mass has dis- 

 appeared underground. There is nothing left outside, or 

 very nearly nothing. I am able to make a fairly close 

 estimate and I find that each of my Geotrupes, presuming 

 each of the twelve to have done an equal share of the 

 work, has stowed away very nearly a cubic decimetre 1 

 of matter. A Titanic task, if we remember the insignifi- 

 cant size of the animal, which, moreover, has to dig 

 the warehouse to which the booty must be lowered. 

 And all this is done in the space of a night. 



So well provided, will they remain quietly under- 

 ground with their treasure ? Not they ! The weather 

 is magnificent. The hour of twilight comes, gentle and 

 calm. This is the time of the great flights, the mirthful 

 hummings, the distant explorations on the roads by 

 which the herds have lately passed. My lodgers abandon 

 their cellars and mount to the surface. I hear them 

 buzzing, climbing up the wirework, knocking themselves 

 wildly against the walls. I have anticipated this twilight 

 animation. Provisions have been collected during the 

 day, plentiful as those of yesterday. I serve them. 

 There is the same disappearance during the night. On 

 the morrow, the place is once again swept clean. And 

 this would continue indefinitely, so fine are the evenings, 

 if I always had at my disposal the wherewithal to satisfy 

 those insatiable hoarders. 



Rich though his booty be, the Geotrupe leaves it at 

 sunset to sport in the last gleams of daylight and to go 

 in search of a new workplace. With him, one would 

 say, the wealth acquired does not count ; the only valid 

 thing is that to be acquired. Then what does he do 

 with his warehouses, renewed, in favourable times, at 

 1 About 61 cubic inches. Translator's Note. 



