The parasite of the Halictus is in a difficult position. The homing Bee has her booty of honey in her crop and her harvest of flour on the brushes of her legs: the first is inaccessible to the thief; the second is in the form of powder and devoid of stable support. And even then it is quite insufficient. To collect the wherewithal to knead the round loaf, the journeys have to be repeated. When the necessary amount is obtained, the Halictus will pound it with the tip of her mandibles and shape it with her feet into a globule. The Dipteron’s egg, were it present among the materials, would certainly be in danger during this manipulation. The alien egg, therefore, must be laid on the made bread; and, as the preparation takes place underground, the parasite is under the forced necessity of going down to the Halictus. With inconceivable daring, she does go down, even when the Bee is there. Whether through cowardice or foolish indulgence, the dispossessed insect lets the other have its way. The object of the Gnat, with her tenacious lying-in-wait and her reckless burglaries, is not to feed herself at the harvester’s expense: she could find the wherewithal to live on in the flowers, with much less trouble than her thieving trade involves. The most, I think, that she can allow herself to do in the Halictus’ cellars is demurely to taste the victuals, in order to ascertain their quality. Her great, her sole business is to settle her family. The stolen goods are not for herself, but for her sons. Let us dig up the pollen-loaves. We shall find them most often crumbled with no regard to economy, simply abandoned to waste. We shall see two or three maggots, with pointed mouths, moving in the yellow flour scattered over the floor of the cell. These are the Dipteron’s progeny. With them we sometimes find the lawful owner, the worm of the Halictus, but stunted and emaciated with fasting. His gluttonous companions, without otherwise molesting him, deprive him of the best of everything. The wretched starveling dwindles, shrivels and disappears with little delay. His corpse, a mere atom, blended with the remaining provisions, supplies the maggots with one mouthful the more. And what does the mother Halictus do in this disaster? She is free to visit her grubs at any moment; she has but to put her head into the passage of the house: she cannot fail to be apprised of their distress. The squandered loaf, the disorder of swarming vermin are events easily recognized. Why does she not take the intruders by the skin of the belly? To crush them with a bite of her mandibles, to fling them out of doors were the business of a second. And the foolish creature never thinks of it, leaves the famishers in peace!