Some of them already contain the cocoon, which is slender and semitransparent, like those of the Cerceris, and, like them, suggests the shape of certain homoeopathic phials, with oval bellies surmounted by a tapering neck. The cocoon is fastened to the end of the cell by the tip of this neck, which is darkened and hardened by the larva's excrement; it has no other support. It looks like a short club fixed by the end of the handle along the horizontal axis of the nest. Other cells contain the larva in a more or less advanced stage. The grub is munching the last morsel served to it, with the scraps of the victuals already consumed lying around it. Others lastly show me a Bee, one only, still untouched and bearing an egg laid on her breast. This is the first partial ration; the others will come as and when the grub grows larger. My anticipations are thus confirmed: following the example of the Bembeces, the Fly-killers, the Philanthus, the Bee-killer, lays her egg on the first piece warehoused and at intervals adds to her nurselings' repast. The problem of the dead game is solved. There remains this other problem, one of incomparable interest: why are the Bees robbed of their honey before being served to the larvae? I have said and I say again that the killing and squeezing cannot be explained and excused simply by reference to the Philanthus' love of gormandizing. Robbing the worker of her booty is nothing out of the way: we see it daily; but cutting her throat in order to empty her stomach is going beyond a joke. And, as the Bees packed away in the cellar are squeezed dry just as much as the others, the thought occurs to my mind that a rumpsteak with jam is not to everybody's liking and that the game stuffed with honey might well be a distasteful or even unwholesome dish for the Philanthus' larvae. What will the grub do when, sated with blood and meat, it finds the Bee's honey-bag under its mandibles and especially when, nibbling at random, it rips open the crop and spoils its venison with syrup? Will it thrive on the mixture? Will the little ogre pass without repugnance from the gamy flavour of a carcase to the scent of flowers? A blunt statement or denial would serve no purpose. We must see. Let us see.