Henceforth, it is like a hunt for truffles, which the Dog points out and the man extracts. I continue on the same system, the Ammophila showing me the place and I digging with the knife. I thus obtain a second Grey Worm, followed by a third and a fourth. The exhumation is always effected at bare spots that have been turned by the pitchfork a few months earlier. There is absolutely nothing to denote the presence of the caterpillar from without. Well, Favier, Claire, Aglaé and the rest of you, what have you to say? In three hours you have not been able to dig me up a single Grey Worm, whereas this clever huntress supplies me with as many as I want, once that I have thought of coming to her assistance! I have now plenty of spare pieces; let us leave the huntress her fifth prize, which she unearths with my help. I will set forth in numbered paragraphs the various acts of the gorgeous drama that passes before my eyes. The observation is made under the most favourable conditions: I am lying on the ground, close to the slaughterer, and not one detail escapes me. 1. The Ammophila seizes the caterpillar by the back of the neck with the curved pincers of her mandibles. The Grey Worm struggles violently, rolling and unrolling its contorted body. The Wasp remains quite unconcerned: she stands aside and thus avoids the shocks. Her sting strikes the joint between the first segment and the head, on the median ventral line, at a spot where the skin is more delicate. The dart stays in the wound with some persistency. This, it appears, is the essential blow, which will master the Grey Worm and make it more easy to handle. 2. The Ammophila now quits her prey. She flattens herself on the ground, with wild, disordered movements, rolling on her side, twitching and dangling her limbs, fluttering her wings, as though in danger of death. I fear lest the huntress may have received a nasty wound in the contest. I am overcome with emotion at seeing the plucky Wasp finish so piteously, at seeing the experiment that has cost me so many hours of waiting end in failure. But suddenly the Ammophila recovers, smooths her wings, curls her antennæ and returns briskly to the attack. What I had taken for the convulsions of approaching death was the frenzied enthusiasm of victory. The Wasp was congratulating herself on the manner in which she had floored the enemy.