A luminous idea flashed upon me, bringing hope, so naturally did it touch the very heart of the question. Of course, it was the right thing and must succeed. My disdained game must be offered to the Cerceris in the heat of the chase—then, absorbed and preoccupied, she will not discover its imperfections. I have already said that on returning from the chase the Cerceris alights at the foot of the incline at some distance from the hole, whither she laboriously drags the prey. What I then had to do was to deprive her of her victim, drawing it away by one foot with pincers, and instantly throwing her the living weevil in exchange. This manœuvre succeeded perfectly. As soon as the Cerceris felt the prey slip under her body and escape her, she stamped with impatience, turned round, and perceiving the weevil which had replaced hers, flung herself upon it and clasped it in order to carry it away. But she promptly perceived that this prey was alive, and then the drama began and ended with inconceivable rapidity. The Cerceris faced her victim, seized its proboscis with her powerful jaws and grasped it vigorously, and while the weevil reared itself up, pressed her forefeet hard on its back as if to force open some ventral articulation. Then the tail of the murderess slid under the Cleonus, curved and darted its poisoned lancet swiftly two or three times at the joining of the prothorax, between the first and second pair of feet. In a twinkling all was over. Without one convulsive movement, with no motion of the limbs such as accompany the death of an animal, the victim fell motionless for ever, as if annihilated. It was at once wonderful and terrible in its rapidity. Then the assassin turned the Weevil on its back, placing herself body to body with it, her legs on either side of it, and flew off. Three times I renewed the experiment with my three Weevils, and the same scene was always enacted.