I visit them a couple of hours later, thinking that I have given them time enough to finish their preparations. I raise the potsherd. They are there in the same posture, face to face and hand in hand. I shall see no more to-day. The next day, nothing new either. One in front of the other, meditatively, without stirring a limb, the gossips, holding each other by the finger-tips, continue their endless interview under the tile. In the evening, at sunset, after sitting linked together for four-and-twenty hours, the couple separate. He goes away from the tile, she remains; and matters have not advanced by an inch. This observation gives us two facts to remember. After the stroll to celebrate the betrothal, the couple need the mystery and quiet of a shelter. Never would the nuptial conclusion take place in the open air, amid the bustling crowd, in sight of all. Remove the roof of the house, by night or day, with all possible discretion; and the husband and wife, who seem absorbed in meditation, march off in search of another spot. Also, the stay under the cover of a stone is a long one: we have just seen it spun out to twenty-four hours and even then without a decisive result. 12 May.—What will this evening’s watch teach us? The weather is calm and hot, favourable to nocturnal pastimes. A couple has formed: I did not witness the start. This time the male is greatly inferior in size to his corpulent mate. Nevertheless, the skinny wight performs his duty gallantly. Walking backwards, according to rule, with his tail rolled trumpetwise, he marches the fat Scorpioness around the glass ramparts. After one circuit follows another, sometimes in the same, sometimes in the opposite direction. Stops are frequent. Then the two foreheads touch, bend a little to left and right, as if there were whispers exchanged in each other’s ears. The little fore-legs flutter in fevered caresses. What are they saying to each other? How shall we translate their silent epithalamium into words? The whole household turns out to see this curious group, which our presence in no way disturbs. The pair are pronounced to be “pretty”; and the expression is not exaggerated. Semi-translucent and shining in the light of the lantern, they seem carved out of a block of yellow amber. Their arms outstretched, their tails rolled into graceful volutes, they wander on with a slow movement and with measured tread. Nothing puts them out. Should some vagabond, taking the evening air and keeping to the wall like themselves, meet them on their way, he stands aside—for he understands these delicate matters—and leaves them a free passage. Lastly, the shelter of a tile receives the strolling pair, the male entering first and backwards: that goes without saying. It is nine o’clock.