A week spent without moving, on the mother’s back, is required for this work. Then there takes place an excoriation which I hesitate to describe by the expression moult, so greatly does it differ from the true moult, undergone later at repeated intervals. For the latter, the skin splits over the thorax; and the animal emerges through this single fissure, leaving a dry, cast-off garment behind it, similar in shape to the Scorpion that has just discarded it. The empty mould retains the exact outline of the moulded animal. But, this time, we have something different. I place a few young ones in the act of shedding their skin on a sheet of glass. They are motionless, sorely tried, it seems, almost spent. The skin bursts, without special lines of cleavage; it tears at one and the same time in front, behind, at the sides; the legs come out of their gaiters, the claws leave their gauntlets, the tail quits its scabbard. The cast skin falls in rags on all sides at once. It is a peeling without order and in tatters. When it is done, the stripped insects present the normal appearance of Scorpions. They have also acquired agility. Although still pale in tint, they are nimble, quick to set foot to earth in order to run and play beside their mother. The most striking part of this progress is the rapid growth. The young of the Languedocian Scorpion measured nine millimetres in length; they now measure fourteen. [50] Those of the Black Scorpion have grown from four to six or seven millimetres. [51] The length increases by one half, which nearly trebles the volume. Surprised by this sudden growth, we wonder what the cause can be, for the little ones have taken no food. Their weight has not increased; on the contrary, it has diminished; for we must remember that the skin has been cast. The volume increases, but not the mass. There is, therefore, a distension up to a certain point, which may be compared with that of inorganic bodies under the influence of heat. A secret change takes place, which groups the living molecules into a more spacious combination; and the volume increases without the addition of fresh materials. One who, possessed of a fine patience and suitably equipped, cared to follow the rapid changes of this architecture would, I think, reap a harvest of some value. I, in my penury, abandon the problem to others. The remnants of the peeling process are white strips, satiny rags, which, so far from falling to the ground, adhere to the back of the mother Scorpion, especially near the base of the legs, where they become tangled into a soft carpet on which the lately-stripped insects rest. The mount now boasts a saddle-cloth well adapted to hold her restless riders in their seats. Whether these have to alight or to remount, the layer of tatters, now become a solid harness, affords support for rapid movement.