At the risk of provoking a smile, I will venture on another confession. As I begin to see into the matter more clearly, I hesitate to torture or destroy a single creature in God’s great community. The life of the least of these is a thing to be respected. We can take it away, but we cannot give it. Peace to those innocents, so little interested in our investigations! What does our restless curiosity matter to their calm and sacred ignorance? If we wish to know, let us pay the price ourselves as far as possible. The acquisition of an idea is well worth the sacrifice of a bit of skin. The Elm Tortoiseshell, with her rain of blood, may leave us to a certain extent in doubt. Might not this strange red substance, with its unusual appearance, contain a poison which is likewise exceptional? I address myself therefore to the Mulberry Bombyx, to the Pine Bombyx and to the Great Peacock. I collect the uric excretions ejected by the newly hatched Moths. This time, the liquid is whitish, sullied here and there with uncertain tints. There is no blood-red colouration; but the result is the same. The virulent energy manifests itself in the most definite manner. Therefore the Processionary’s virus exists equally in all caterpillars, in all Butterflies and Moths emerging from the chrysalis; and this virus is a by-product of the organism, a urinary product. The curiosity of our minds is insatiable. The moment a reply is obtained, a fresh question arises. Why should the Lepidoptera alone be endowed in this manner? The organic labours accomplished within them cannot differ greatly, as to the nature of the materials, from those presiding over the maintenance of life in other insects. Therefore these others also elaborate a by-product which has stinging powers. This can be verified—and that forthwith—with the elements at my disposal. The first reply is furnished by Cetonia floricola, of which Beetle I collect half a dozen chrysalids from a heap of leaves half-converted into mould. A box receives my find, laid on a sheet of white paper, on which the urinary fluid of the perfect insect will fall as soon as the caskets are broken. The weather is favourable and I have not long to wait. The thing is done: the matter rejected is white, the usual colour of these residua, in the great majority of insects, at the moment of the metamorphosis. Though by no means abundant, it nevertheless provokes on my fore-arm a violent itching, together with mortification of the skin, which comes off in flakes. The reason why it does not display a more distinct sore is that I judged it prudent to end the experiment. The burning and itching tell me enough as to the results of a contact unduly prolonged.