Now here is something to give us a hint. The devoured are invariably of middling size. Their lighter shade of colouring, their less protuberant bellies mark them as males, always males. The others, larger, more paunchy, and a little darker in shade, do not end in this unhappy fashion. So it is probably not a case of brawls between neighbours who, jealous of their solitude, soon settle the doom of any visitor and eat him afterwards, a radical means of putting a stop to further indiscretions; it is rather a question of nuptial rites tragically performed by the matron after pairing. Spring returns once more. I have prepared the large glass cage in advance and peopled it with five-and-twenty inhabitants, each with his bit of earthenware. From mid-April onwards, every evening, towards night-fall, between seven and nine o’clock, great animation reigns within this crystal palace. That which seemed deserted by day now becomes a joyous scene. As soon as supper is finished, the whole household runs out to look at it. A lantern hung outside the panes allows us to follow events. It is our diversion after the worries of the day; it is our play-house. In this theatre of simple folk, the performances are so interesting that, the moment the lantern is lighted, we all, old and young, come and take our seats in the pit: all, including even Tom, the house-dog. Tom, it is true, indifferent to Scorpion affairs, like the genuine philosopher that he is, lies down at our feet and dozes, but only with one eye, keeping the other always open on his friends, the children. Let me try to give the reader an idea of what happens. A numerous assembly soon gathers near the glass panes in the zone discreetly lit by the lantern. Every elsewhere, here, there, single Scorpions walk about and, attracted by the light, leave the shade and hasten to the illuminated festival. The very moths betray no greater readiness to flutter to the rays of our lamps. The newcomers mingle with the crowd, while others, tired with their diversions, withdraw into the shade, snatch a few moments’ rest and then impetuously return upon the scene. These hideous devotees of gaiety provide a dance not wholly unattractive. Some come from afar: gravely they emerge from out the darkness; then, suddenly, with a rush as swift and easy as a slide, they join the crowd, in the light. Their agility reminds one of mice scudding with short steps. They seek one another and fly precipitately as soon as they touch, as though they had mutually burnt their fingers. Others, after tumbling about a little with their play-fellows, make off hurriedly, wildly. They take fresh courage in the dark and return.