320 The Hunting JVasps 



enters the roofless trench, all that remains of 

 the original corridor. She goes forward, draws 

 back, goes forward again, giving a few careless 

 sweeps, here and there, without stopping. 

 Guided by vague recollections and perhaps also 

 by the smell of game emitted by the heap of 

 Flies, she occasionally reaches the end of the 

 gallery, the very spot at which the larva lies. 

 Mother and son are now together. At this 

 moment of meeting after long suffering, have 

 we a display of eager solicitude, exuberant 

 affection, any signs whatever of maternal joy ? 

 If you think so, you need only repeat my experi- 

 ments to persuade yourself to the contrary. 

 The Bembex does not recognize her larva at 

 all ; it is to her a worthless thing, something 

 in her way, a nuisance. She walks over the 

 grub, treads on it ruthlessly, as she hurries to 

 and fro. Whei^she wants to try and dig at the 

 bottom of the cell, she thrusts it back with a 

 brutal kick ; she shoves it on one side, topples 

 it over, flings it out as unceremoniously as if it 

 were a big bit of gravel that hindered her in her 

 work. Thus knocked about, the grub thinks 

 of defending itself. I have seen it seize its 

 mother by the tarsus with no more ceremony 

 than it shows when it bites off the leg of its 

 prey, the Fly. The struggle was hotly con- 

 tested ; bat at last the fierce mandibles let go 



