Two Scorpions are face to face, their claws outstretched, their hands clasped. Their tails curved in graceful spirals, the couple wander with measured steps the length of the window. The male goes first, walking backwards, smoothly, encountering no resistance. The female follows obediently, held by the tips of her claws, face to face with her leader. The promenade is interrupted by halts which do not in any way modify the method of conjunction; it is resumed, now in this direction, now in that, from one end of the enclosure to the other. Nothing indicates the goal for which the strollers are making. They loiter, musing and assuredly exchanging glances. Thus in my village, on Sunday, after vespers, the young people stroll along by the hedges, two by two. Often they turn to one side. It is always the male who decides the fresh direction to be followed. Without releasing his companion’s hands he gracefully turns about, placing himself side by side with his companion. Then, for a moment, with his tail lying flat, he caresses her back. The other does not stir; she remains impassive. Sometimes the two heads touch, bending a little to right and left as if whispering into each other’s ears. What are they saying? How translate into words their silent epithalamium? Sometimes, too, their foreheads touch and the two mouths meet with tender effusiveness. To describe these caresses the word “kisses” occurs to the mind. One dare not employ it; for here is neither head, face, lips, or cheeks. Truncated as though by a stroke of the shears, the animal has not even a snout. Where we should look for a face, are two hideous jaws like a wall. And this for the Scorpion is the height of beauty! With his fore legs, more delicate and agile than the rest, he softly pats the dreadful mask, to his eyes an exquisite face; voluptuously he nibbles at it, tickles with his jaws the face touching his, as hideous as his own. His tenderness and naïveté are superb. The dove, they say, invented the kiss. I know of a precursor: the Scorpion.... For a good hour I watch, unwearied, these interminable wanderings to and fro. Part of the household lends me the assistance of its eyes. Despite the lateness of the hour, our combined attention allows nothing essential to escape us. We admire the curious yoking of the couples which our presence does not disturb in the least. We find it almost graceful, and the expression is not exaggerated. Semi-translucid and gleaming in the light of the lantern, the happy pair seem carved from a block of yellow amber. With arms outstretched and tails coiled into graceful spirals, they gently stroll about with measured paces.