The Poplar-Weevil 
retain the cylindrical shape imposed upon it. 
The work is finished. It is a cigar of the 
diameter of a thick straw and about an inch 
long. It hangs perpendicularly from the end 
of the stalk bruised and bent at a sharp angle. 
It has taken the whole day to manufacture. 
After a short spell of rest, the mother tackles 
a second leaf and, working by night, obtains 
another cylinder. Two in twenty-four hours 
is as much as the most diligent can achieve. 
Now what is the roller’s object? Can 
she be preparing preserves for her own use? 
Obviously not: no insect, where itself alone 
is concerned, devotes such care and patience 
to the preparation of food. It is only with 
a view to the family that it hoards so indus- 
triously. The Rhynchites’ cigar forms a 
dowry for the future. 
Let us unroll it. Here, between the 
layers of the cylinder, is the egg; often there 
are two, three or even four. They are oval, 
pale-yellow, like fine drops of amber. Their 
adhesion to the leaf is very slight; the least 
jerk loosens them. They are distributed 
without order, tucked away more or less 
deeply in the thickness of the cigar and 
always isolated, one at a time. We find ' 
I5I 
