At last, at about ten o’clock, an event happens. The male has lit upon a potsherd the shelter of which seems to suit him. He releases his companion with one hand, with one alone, and, continuing to hold her with the other, he scratches with his legs and sweeps with his tail. A grotto opens. He enters and, slowly, without violence, drags the patient Scorpioness after him. Soon, both have disappeared. A plug of sand closes the dwelling. The couple are at home. To disturb them would be a blunder: I should be interfering too soon, at an inopportune moment, if I tried at once to see what was happening below. The preliminary stages may last for the best part of the night; and it does not do for me, who have turned eighty, to sit up so late. I feel my legs giving way; and my eyes seem full of sand. Let us go to sleep. All night long, I dream of Scorpions. They crawl under my bed-clothes, they pass over my face; and I am not particularly excited, so many curious things do I see in my imagination. The next morning, at day-break, I raise the stoneware. The female is alone. Of the male there is no trace, either in the home or in the neighbourhood. First disappointment, to be followed by many others. 10 May.—It is nearly seven o’clock in the evening; the sky is overcast with signs of an approaching shower. Under one of the potsherds is a motionless couple, face to face, with linked fingers. Cautiously I raise the potsherd and leave the occupants uncovered, so as to study the results of the interview at my ease. The darkness of the night falls and nothing, it seems to me, will disturb the calm of the home deprived of its roof. A brisk shower compels me to retire. They, under the lid of the cage, have no need to take shelter against the rain. What will they do, left to their business as they are, but deprived of a canopy to their alcove? An hour later, the rain ceases and I return to my Scorpions. They are gone. They have taken up their abode under a neighbouring potsherd. Still with their fingers linked, the female is outside and the male indoors, preparing the home. At intervals of ten minutes, the members of my family relieve one another, so as not to lose the exact moment of the pairing, which appears to me to be imminent. Useless cares: at eight o’clock, it being now quite dark, the couple, dissatisfied with the spot, set out on a fresh ramble, hand in hand, and go in search elsewhere. The male, walking backwards, leads the march, chooses the dwelling as he pleases; the female follows with docility. It is an exact repetition of what I saw on the 25th of April. At last, a tile is found to suit them. The male goes in first, but, this time, without letting go of his companion for a moment, with one hand or the other. The nuptial chamber is prepared with a few sweeps of the tail. Gently drawn towards him, the Scorpioness enters in the wake of her guide.