This pigmy, apparently so uninteresting, shall supply us with our first records of the curious life-story of the Psyches. I gather him in profusion in April and instal him in a wire bell-jar. What he eats I know not. My ignorance would be grievous under other conditions; but at present I need not trouble about provisions. Taken from their walls and trees, where they had suspended themselves for their transformation, most of my little Psyches are in the chrysalis state. A few of them are still active. They hasten to clamber to the top of the trellis-work; they fix themselves there perpendicularly by means of a little silk cushion; then everything is still. June comes to an end; and the male Moths are hatched, leaving the chrysalid wrapper half caught in the case, which remains fixed where it is and will remain there indefinitely until dismantled by the weather. The emergence is effected through the hinder end of the bundle of sticks, the only way by which it can be effected. Having permanently closed the top opening, the real door of the house, by fastening it to the support which he has chosen, the caterpillar therefore has turned the other way round and undergone his transformation in a reversed position, which enables the adult insect to emerge through the outlet made at the back, the only one now free. For that matter, this is the method followed by all the Psyches. The case has two apertures. The front one, which is more regular and more carefully constructed, is at the caterpillar’s service so long as larval activity lasts. It is closed and firmly fastened to its support at the time of the nymphosis. The hinder one, which is faulty and even hidden by the sagging of the sides, is at the Moth’s service. It does not really open until right at the end, when pushed by the chrysalis or the adult insect. In their modest pearl-grey dress, with their insignificant wing-equipment, hardly exceeding that of a Common Fly, our little Moths are still not without elegance. They have handsome feathery plumes for antennæ; their wings are edged with delicate fringes. They whirl very fussily inside the bell-jar; they skim the ground, fluttering their wings; they crowd eagerly around certain sheaths which nothing on the outside distinguishes from the others. They alight upon them and sound them with their plumes. This feverish agitation marks them as lovers in search of their brides. This one here, that one there, each of them finds his mate. But the coy one does not leave her home. Things happen very discreetly through the wicket left open at the free end of the case. The male stands on the threshold of this back-door for a little while; and then it is over: the wedding is finished. There is no need for us to linger over these nuptials in which the parties concerned do not know, do not see each other.