The Life of the Bee 
tled, fatuously pompous, swelled with 
foolish, good-natured contempt; harbour- 
ing never a suspicion of the deep and 
calculating scorn wherewith the workers 
regard them, of the constantly growing 
hatred to which they give rise, or of the 
destiny that awaits them. For their 
pleasant slumbers they select the snuggest 
corners of the hive; then, rising carelessly, 
they flock to the open cells where the 
honey smells sweetest, and soil with their 
excrements the combs they frequent., The 
patient workers, their eyes steadily fixed 
on the future, will silently set things 
right. From noon till three, when the 
purple country trembles in blissful lassi- 
tude beneath the invincible gaze of a 
July or August sun, the drones will ap- 
pear on the threshold. They have a 
helmet made of enormous black pearls, 
two lofty, quivering plumes, a doublet 
of iridescent, yellowish velvet, an heroic 
348 
