This is the moment, the only propitious moment, to attempt a substitution of prey and invite the huntress to let you witness her lancet-thrusts. Quick, let us procure an alternative morsel, a live Ephippiger! Hurry, time presses: in a few minutes the burrow will have received the victuals and the glorious occasion will be lost! Must I speak of my mortification at these moments of good fortune, the mocking bait held out by chance? Here, before my eyes, is matter for interesting observations; and I cannot profit by it! I cannot surprise the Sphex’ secret for the lack of something to offer her in the place of her prize! Try it for yourself, try setting out in quest of an alternative piece with only a few minutes at your disposal, when it took me three days of wild running about before I found Weevils for my Cerceres! And yet I made the desperate experiment twice over. Ah, if the keeper had caught me this time, tearing like mad through the vineyards, what a good opportunity it would have been for crediting me with robbery and having me up before the magistrate! Vine-branches and clusters of grapes: not a thing did I respect in my mad rush, hampered by the trailing shoots. I must have an Ephippiger at all costs, I must have him that moment. And once I did get my Ephippiger during one of these frenzied expeditions. I was radiant with joy, never suspecting the bitter disappointment in store for me. If only I arrive in time, if only the Sphex be still engaged in transport work! Thank heaven, everything is in my favour! The Wasp is still some distance away from her burrow and still dragging her prize along. With my forceps I pull gently at it from behind. The huntress resists, stubbornly clutches the antennæ of her victim and refuses to let go. I pull harder, even drawing the carter back as well; it makes no difference: the Sphex does not loose her hold. I have with me a pair of sharp scissors, belonging to my little entomological case. I use them and promptly cut the harness-ropes, the Ephippiger’s long antennæ. The Sphex continues to move ahead, but soon stops, astonished at the sudden decrease in the weight of the burden which she is trailing, for this burden is now reduced merely to the two antennæ, snipped off by my mischievous wiles. The real load, the heavy, pot-bellied insect, remains behind and is instantly replaced by my live specimen. The Wasp turns round, lets go the ropes that now draw nothing after them, and retraces her steps. She comes face to face with the prey substituted for her own. She examines it, walks round it gingerly, then stops, moistens her foot with saliva, and begins to wash her eyes. In this attitude of meditation, can some such thought as the following pass through her mind: ‘Come now! Am I awake or am I asleep? Do I know what I am about or do I not? That thing’s not mine. Who or what is trying to humbug me?’