The rest of the morning confirmed these premisses to the full: before an intolerable sun drove me from the slope explored, I possessed a dozen pears identical in shape and almost in dimensions. On various occasions, the mother was present in the workshop. Let me tell, to finish with this part of our subject, what the future held in store for me. During the whole of the dog-days, from the end of June until September, I renewed almost daily my visits to the spots frequented by the Scarab; and the burrows dug up with my trowel supplied me with an amount of evidence exceeding my fondest hopes. The insects brought up in the volery supplied me with further documents, though these, it is true, were rare and not to be compared with the riches of the open fields. All told, at least some hundred nests passed through my hands; and it was always the graceful shape of the pear, never, absolutely never, the round shape of the pill, never the ball of which the books tell us. And now let us unfold the authentic story, calling to witness none save facts actually observed and reobserved. The Sacred Beetle’s nest is betrayed on the outside by a heap of shifted earth, by a little mole-hill formed of the superfluous rubbish which the mother, when closing up the abode, has been unable to replace, as a part of the excavation must be left empty. Under this heap is a shallow pit, about two-fifths of an inch deep, followed by a horizontal gallery, either straight or winding, which ends in a large hall, spacious enough to hold a man’s fist. This is the crypt in which the egg lies wrapped in food and subjected to the incubation of a burning sun, at a few inches underground; this is the roomy workshop in which the mother, enjoying full liberty of movement, has kneaded and shaped the future nursling’s bread into a pear. This stercoral bread has its main axis lying in a horizontal position. Its shape and size remind one exactly of those little poires de Saint-Jean which, thanks to their bright colouring, their flavour and their early ripeness, delight the children’s tribe. The bulk varies within narrow limits. The largest dimensions are 45 millimetres in length by 30 millimetres in width; [7] the smallest are 35 millimetres by 28. [8] Without being as polished as stucco, the surface, which is absolutely regular, is carefully smoothed under a thin layer of red earth. At first, when of recent construction, soft as potter’s clay, the pyriform loaf soon, in the course of desiccation, acquires a stout crust that refuses to yield under the pressure of fingers. Wood itself is no harder. This bark is the defensive wrapper which isolates the recluse from this world and allows him to consume his victuals in profound peace. But, should desiccation reach the central mass, then the danger becomes extremely serious. We shall have occasion to return to the woes of the grub exposed to a diet of too-stale bread.