Let us now consider the motives that induce the Philanthus to kill her Bee instead of paralysing her. When the crime has been perpetrated, she manipulates her dead victim without letting go of it for a moment, holding its belly pressed against her own six legs. I see her recklessly, very recklessly, rooting with her mandibles in the articulation of the neck, sometimes also in the larger articulation of the corselet, behind the first pair of legs, an articulation of whose delicate membrane she is perfectly well aware, even though, when using her sting, she did not take advantage of this point, which is the most readily accessible of all. I see her rough-handling the Bee's belly, squeezing it against her own abdomen, crushing it in the press. The recklessness of the treatment is striking; it shows that there is no need for keeping up precautions. The Bee is a corpse; and a little hustling here and there will not deteriorate its quality, provided there be no effusion of blood. In point of fact, however rough the handling, I fail to discover the slightest wound. These various manipulations, especially the squeezing of the neck, at once bring about the desired results: the honey in the crop mounts to the Bee's throat. I see the tiny drops spurt out, lapped up by the glutton as soon as they appear. The bandit greedily, over and over again, takes the dead insect's lolling, sugared tongue into her mouth; then she once more digs into the neck and thorax, subjecting the honey-bag to the renewed pressure of her abdomen. The syrup comes and is instantly lapped up and lapped up again. In this way the contents of the crop are exhausted in small mouthfuls, yielded one at a time. This odious meal at the expense of a corpse's stomach is taken in a sybaritic attitude; the Philanthus lies on her side with the Bee between her legs. The atrocious banquet sometimes lasts for half an hour or longer. At last the drained Bee is discarded, not without regret, it seems, for from time to time I see the manipulation renewed. After taking a turn round the top of the bell-jar, the robber of the dead returns to her prey and squeezes it, licking its mouth until the last trace of honey has disappeared.