To open the puzzling “find” and ascertain its contents would perhaps be imprudent: such an act of violence might jeopardize the life of the germ enclosed, always provided that the Scarab’s egg be there, a matter of which the shepherd seems convinced. And then, I imagine, the pear-shape, opposed to every accepted idea, is probably accidental. Who knows if chance has anything like it in store for me in the future? It were wise to keep the thing as it is, to await events; above all, it were wise to go in search of information on the spot. The shepherd was at his post by daybreak the next morning. I joined him on some slopes that had been lately cleared of their trees, where the hot summer sun, which strikes so powerfully on the neck, could not reach us for two or three hours. In the cool air of morning, with the flock browsing under the care of the sheep-dog, we went in search together. Scarabæus’ burrow is soon found: it is recognizable by the recent mole-hill that surmounts it. My companion digs with a vigorous wrist. I have lent him my little pocket-trowel, the light, but workmanlike tool which, incorrigible earth-scraper that I am, I seldom omit to take with me when I go out. I lie down, the better to see the arrangement and furnishing of the hypogeum in process of excavation; and I am all eyes. The shepherd uses the trowel as a lever and, with his free hand, pushes back the rubbish. Here we are! A cave opens out and, in the moist warmth of the yawning vault, I see a splendid pear lying full-length upon the ground. I shall certainly long remember this first revelation of the maternal work of the Scarab. My excitement could have been no greater were I an archæologist digging among the ancient relics of Egypt and lighting upon the sacred insect of the dead, carved in emerald, in some Pharaonic crypt. O blessed joys of truth suddenly shining forth, what others are there to compare with you! The shepherd was in the seventh heaven: he laughed in response to my smile and was happy in my gladness. Luck does not repeat itself: “Non bis in idem,” says the old adage. And here have I twice had under my eyes this curious shape of the pear. Could it be the normal shape, not subject to exception? Must we abandon all thought of a sphere similar to those which the insect rolls on the ground? Let us continue and we shall see. A second hole is found. Like the previous one, it contains a pear. The two discoveries are as like as two peas; they might have issued from the same mould. And a valuable detail is this: in the second burrow, beside the pear and lovingly embracing it, is the mother Beetle, engaged, no doubt, in giving it the finishing touches before leaving the underground cave for good. All doubts are dispelled: I know the worker and I know the work.