166 THE DEBACLE. 
Huge, misshapen cells she passed, filled 
with half-a-dozen larve, or young, apparently 
untended ; others she squeezed by which had 
been used as nurseries, then as honey-pots, 
and now were being drained by one or two 
fat, lazy drones, or male bees. In one spot 
an earwig had got in and slain a bee baby; in 
another a field-mouse had consumed a whole 
row of honey-pots; and in a far corner she 
came upon her queen, a bloated, pathetic 
figure, who had practically lost the power of 
flight, was half-numbed, and wholly worn-out. 
Any one could see that she had done her 
work, that queen, and ‘had leave to die.’ 
The new young queens who were to carry 
the species on had left the nest on their 
marriage flights a week ago, and by now, it 
was to be hoped, were safely hibernating 
against coming winter. 
Our bee stopped a moment to give the 
queen a little of her honey. The royal head 
scarcely moved in response to the delicate 
caresses of her feelers. She cleaned her, and 
left her there—alone, neglected, dying. 
A little farther on she came upon four half- 
asleep workers, vainly struggling to eject a fat 
bee, just like themselves, except that he had 
clouded wings, whereas theirs were clear, who 
had broken open a cell, and was calmly 
