Let us now remove the outside of the straw envelope, shredding it piecemeal. The demolition gives us a varying number of joists: I have counted as many as eighty and more. The ruin that remains is a cylindrical sheath wherein we discover, from one end to the other, the structure which we perceived at the front and rear, the two parts which are naturally bare. The tissue everywhere is of very stout silk, which resists without breaking when pulled by the fingers, a smooth tissue, beautifully white inside, drab and wrinkled outside, where it bristles with encrusted woody particles. There will be an opportunity later to discover by what means the caterpillar makes himself so complicated a garment, in which are laid one upon the other, in a definite order, first, the extremely fine satin which is in direct contact with the skin; next, the mixed stuff, a sort of frieze dusted with ligneous matter, which saves the silk and gives consistency to the work; lastly, the surtout of overlapping laths. While retaining this general threefold arrangement, the scabbard offers notable variations of structural detail in the different species. Here, for instance, is a second Psyche, [26] the most belated of the three which I have chanced to come upon. I meet him towards the end of June, hurrying across some dusty path near the houses. His cases surpass those of the previous species both in size and in regularity of arrangement. They form a thick coverlet, of many pieces, in which I recognize here fragments of hollow stalks, there bits of fine straw, with perhaps straps formed of blades of grass. In front there is never any mantilla of dead leaves, a troublesome piece of finery which, without being in regular use, is pretty frequent in the costume of the first-named species. At the back, no long, denuded vestibule. Save for the indispensable collar at the aperture, all the rest is cased in logs. There is not much variety about the thing, but, when all is said, there is a certain elegance in its stern faultlessness. The smallest in size and simplest in dress is the third, [27] who is very common at the end of winter on the walls, as well as in the furrows of the barks of gnarled old trees, be they olive-trees, holm-oaks, elms or almost any other. His case, a modest little bundle, is hardly more than two-fifths of an inch in length. A dozen rotten straws, gleaned at random and fixed close to one another in a parallel direction, represent, with the silk sheath, his whole outlay on dress. It would be difficult to clothe one’s self more economically.