Next day, when the carnage is at its height, I remove the prey and replace it by an untouched Snail, fixed in the sand with the opening at the top. Aroused by a bath of water, the animal comes out of its shell, protruding its swan-like neck and extending to their full length its telescopic eye-stalks, which seem quite placidly to contemplate the frantic saraband of the ravenous Beetles. The imminent danger of evisceration does not prevent it from fully displaying its tender flesh, an easy prey on which, one would think, the gluttons, deprived of their meat, will fling themselves to continue the interrupted feast. But what is this? None of the Gold Beetles pays any attention to the magnificent quarry, which, swaying with a wave-like motion, is largely uncovered by its fortress. If one of the starvelings, more greatly daring than the others, ventures to dig a tooth into the mollusc, the Snail contracts, goes indoors and begins to foam. This is enough to repel the assailant. All the afternoon and all night, the victim remains thus in the presence of five-and-twenty disembowellers; and nothing serious happens. This same experiment, repeated on sundry occasions, proves that the Gold Beetle does not attack the unwounded Snail, even when the latter, after a shower of rain, is crawling over the wet grass, protruding all the fore-part of his body from the shell. The Carabus wants cripples, helpless inmates of broken shells; he wants a breach which enables him to bite at a point not liable to slaver. In these circumstances, the “Gardener” can do little to restrain the Snail’s misdeeds. When injured by accident, more or less badly crushed, the ravager of our garden stuff would soon die without the Gold Beetle’s intervention. From time to time, to vary the diet, I feed a piece of butcher’s meat to my charges. The Carabi eagerly flock around it, diligently taking up their stand, mincing it into tiny morsels and devouring it. This food, unknown to their race save perhaps in the form of a Mole disembowelled by the peasant’s spade, suits them as well as does the caterpillar. They like any sort of meat, excepting fish-meat. One day the bill of fare consisted of a Sardine. The guzzlers came trotting up, took a few mouthfuls and then withdrew without touching it again. It was too much of a novelty for them. I must not forget to mention that the cage is provided with a drinking-trough, that is to say, a saucer full of water. The Gold Beetles often come and drink at it after their meals. Parched after their heating diet and, moreover, daubed all over with slime after cutting up a Snail, they quench their thirst at the saucer, rinse their mouths and bathe their tarsi, which are shod in sticky boots heavy with sand. After this ablution, they make for their shelter under the bit of board and quietly enjoy a long siesta. CHAPTER XIV THE GOLD BEETLES: THEIR NUPTIAL HABITS