The Life of the Spider 



do with, all picked up in their immediate 

 neighbourhood, my Lycosae have built them- 

 selves donjon-keeps the like of which their 

 race has not yet known. Around the orifice, 

 on a slightly sloping bank, small, flat, smooth 

 stones have been laid to form a broken, 

 flagged pavement. The larger stones, which 

 are Cyclopean blocks compared with the size 

 of the animal that has shifted them, are em- 

 ployed as abundantly as the others. 



On this rockwork stands the donjon. It is 

 an interlacing of raphia and bits of wool, 

 picked up at random, without distinction of 

 shade. Red and white, green and yellow are 

 mixed without any attempt at order. The 

 Lycosa is indifferent to the joys of colour. 



The ultimate result is a sort of muff, a 

 couple of inches high. Bands of silk, sup- 

 plied by the spinnerets, unite the pieces, so 

 that the whole resembles a coarse fabric. 

 Without being absolutely faultless, for there 

 are always awkward pieces on the outside, 

 which the worker could not handle, the gaudy 

 building is not devoid of merit. The bird 

 lining its nest would do no better. Whoso 

 sees the curious, many-coloured productions 

 in my pans takes them for an outcome of my 

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