The Life of the Spider 



stage. I dig out five or six at the end of 

 February. They are half the size of the old 

 ones; their burrows are equal in diameter to 

 my little finger. Rubbish freshly spread 

 around the pit bears witness to the recent date 

 of the excavations. 



Relegated to their wire cages, these young 

 Lycosse behave differently according as the 

 soil placed at their disposal is or is not al- 

 ready provided with a burrow made by me. 

 A burrow is hardly the word: I give them 

 but the nucleus of a shaft, about an inch 

 deep, to lure them on. When in possession 

 of this rudimentary lair, the Spider does not 

 hesitate to pursue the work which I have in- 

 terrupted in the fields. At night, she digs 

 with a will. I can see this by the heap of 

 rubbish flung aside. She at last obtains a 

 house to suit her, a house surmounted by the 

 usual turret. 



The others, on the contrary, those for 

 whom the thrust of my pencil has not con- 

 trived an entrance-hall representing, to a cer- 

 tain extent, the natural gallery whence I dis- 

 lodged them, absolutely refuse to work; and 

 they die, not withstanding the abundance of 

 provisions. 



150 



