And here a suspicion occurs to my mind. The first ration, the Cricket on whom the egg is laid, exposes the grub to more parlous risks than do the others. To begin with, the larva is still but a frail worm; and then the victim is quite a recent one and therefore most likely to give evidence of a spark of life. This first victim has to be paralysed as completely as possible: consequently it receives the Wasp’s three dagger-thrusts. But the others, whose torpor deepens the older they grow, the others whom the larva attacks after it has gained in strength: do they need to be operated on as carefully? Might not one prick be enough, or two pricks, the effects of which would spread little by little while the grub is consuming its first ration? The poison-fluid is too precious for the Wasp to lavish it unnecessarily: it is hunting-ammunition, to be employed with due economy. At any rate, though I have witnessed three consecutive stabs given to the same victim, at other times I have seen only two administered. It is true that the quivering tip of the Sphex’ abdomen seemed to be seeking the favourable spot for a third wound; but, if it was really given, it escaped me. I should therefore be inclined to think that the victim forming the first ration is always stabbed thrice, whereas the others, from motives of economy, receive only two stings. Our study of the Ammophilæ, who hunt Caterpillars, will confirm this suspicion later. After devouring the last Cricket the larva sets about weaving its cocoon. The work is finished well within forty-eight hours. Henceforth the skilful worker, safe within her impenetrable shelter, can yield to the irresistible lethargy that invades her, to that nameless mode of existence, neither sleep nor waking, neither death nor life, from which she will emerge, ten months from now, transfigured. Very few cocoons are so complicated as hers. It consists, in fact, in addition to a coarse outer network, of three distinct layers, presenting the appearance of three cocoons one inside the other. Let us examine in detail these several courses of the silken edifice. There is first an open woof, of a rough cobweb texture, whereon the larva begins by isolating itself, hanging as in a hammock, to work more easily at the cocoon proper. This unfinished net, hastily woven to serve as a builder’s scaffolding, is made of threads flung out at random, which hold together grains of sand, bits of earth and the leavings of the larva’s feast: the Cricket’s thighs, still braided with red, his shanks and pieces of his skull. The next covering, which is the first covering of the cocoon proper, consists of a much-creased felted tunic, light-red in colour, very fine and very flexible. A few threads flung out here and there join it to the previous scaffolding and to the second wrapper. It forms a cylindrical wallet, closed on every side and too large for its contents, thus causing the surface to wrinkle.