Little Paul’s exploits are innumerable, and nothing deters him. “He will gather handfuls of the most repulsive caterpillars with no more apprehension than if he were picking a bunch of violets.” Several times a day he scrupulously inspects the under sides of the dead moles placed for purposes of observation in the harmas, takes note of the labours of the Necrophori, and, without more ado, seizes upon the fugitives and returns them to their workshop. He alone of the household ventures to lend his assistance in such a disgusting task. Little Paul is always equal to the circumstances. If he is cool he is no less enthusiastic, but it is a well-directed enthusiasm. For proof I need only cite the night of the Great Peacock, the honour of which was due almost wholly to little Paul. It was a “memorable night,” the night of the Great Peacock. Who does not know the magnificent Moth, the largest in Europe, clad in maroon velvet with a necktie of white fur? The wings, with their sprinkling of grey and brown, crossed by a faint zigzag and edged with smoky white, have in the centre a round patch, a great eye with a black pupil and a variegated iris containing successive black, white, chestnut, and purple arcs. Well, on the morning of the 6th of May, a female emerges from her cocoon in my presence, on the table of my insect laboratory. I forthwith cloister her, still damp with the humours of the hatching, under a wire-gauze bell-jar. For the rest, I cherish no particular plans. I incarcerate her from mere habit, the habit of the observer always on the look-out for what may happen. It was a lucky thought. At nine o’clock in the evening, just as the household is going to bed, there is a great stir in the room next to mine. Little Paul, half-undressed, is rushing about, jumping and stamping, knocking the chairs over like a mad thing. I hear him call me: “Come quick!” he screams. “Come and see these Moths, big as birds! The room is full of them!” I hurry in. There is enough to justify the child’s enthusiastic and hyperbolical exclamations, an invasion as yet unprecedented in our house, a raid of giant Moths. Four are already caught and lodged in a bird-cage. Others, more numerous, are fluttering on the ceiling. At this sight, the prisoner of the morning is recalled to my mind. “Put on your things, laddie,” I say to my son. “Leave your cage and come with me. We shall see something interesting.” We run downstairs to go to my study, which occupies the right wing of the house. In the kitchen I find the servant, who is also bewildered by what is happening and stands flicking her apron at great Moths whom she took at first for Bats.