The Bembex seems aware of these dangers and makes arrangements for her entrance to be effected swiftly, without serious obstacles—in short, for the sand blocking the door to yield to a mere push of her head, aided by a brisk sweep of her front tarsi. With this object, the material at the approaches to the home are subjected to a sort of sifting. At leisure moments, under a kindly sun, when the larva has its food and does not need her attentions, the mother rakes the ground in front of her door; she removes little bits of wood, any extra-large particles of gravel, any leaves that might get in the way and bar her passage at the dangerous moment of her return. The Bembex whom we have just seen so zealously employed was busy at this work of sifting: to facilitate the access to her home, the materials of the corridor have to be dug up, carefully sorted and rid of anything likely to obstruct the road. Who indeed can tell whether, by that nimble eagerness, that joyous activity, the insect is not expressing in its own way its maternal satisfaction, its happiness in watching over the roof of the cell to which the precious egg has been entrusted? As the Wasp is confining herself to her duties outside the house, without trying to penetrate into the sand, everything must be in order inside and there is no hurry about anything. We should only wait in vain: the insect would tell us nothing more for the time being. Let us therefore examine the underground dwelling. If we scrape the dune lightly with the blade of a knife at the point where the Bembex was busiest, we soon discover the entrance-corridor, which, though blocked for part of the way down, is nevertheless recognizable by the distinctive appearance of the materials moved. This passage, which is as wide as one’s finger and straight or winding, longer or shorter according to the nature and the accidents of the ground, measures eight to twelve inches. It leads to a single chamber, hollowed in the damp sand, whose walls are not coated with any kind of mortar likely to prevent a subsidence or to lend a polish to the rough surface. The ceiling will do, if it can hold out while the larva is growing up; it does not matter what falls in afterwards, when the larva is enclosed in its stout cocoon, a sort of safe which we shall see it building. The workmanship of the cell, therefore, is very rustic: the whole thing is reduced to a rough excavation, of no definite shape, with a low roof and space enough to contain two or three walnuts.