Of the four leaf-rollers, the one most threatened by drought is that of the oak. Her barrel falls and lies on a soil which is extremely arid except at times of rain; moreover, because of its small dimensions, it dries right through at the first touch of the sun. The ground is equally dry in the vineyard; but there is shade under the branches, and the generous cigar is thick enough to retain in its central part, far better than the slender barrel does, a little of the moisture indispensable to the grub. In respect of prolonged abstinence, the Vine-weevil cannot be compared with the barrel-maker; still less can the Poplar-weevil. For this last, more often than otherwise, there is no danger from drought, despite the smallness of the cylinder, a sorry rat’s-tail. This roll usually falls by the side of a ditch, on the moist soil of the meadows. The exploiter of the alder is hardly in danger either: at the foot of her tree, a lover of the trickling brooks, she finds the coolness needed to keep her food-cylinder in good condition. But, when she exploits the hazel-bush, I do not know what conditions help her out of her difficulty. Lately the newspapers, which noisily echo every piece of absurdity, have been making a certain fuss about the gastric feats of a few poor devils who, to earn their bread, have fasted for thirty or forty days. As in most stunts, admirers were found, ready to encourage those wretched competitions. Now here is something far better, ye snobbish upholders of abstinence! A trivial beastie, not celebrated by the newspapers, a grub born the day before yesterday, takes a few mouthfuls; then, finding its victuals too dry, it eats no more for four months or longer. And this is not the result of sickly languor: the creature fasts in spite of the extreme appetite of youth, when, more than ever, the stomach demands a copious diet. The Rotifer, [46] which for a whole season lies lifeless and desiccated in the mosses of its home, begins to whirl round again when placed in a drop of water. The grub of the Attelabus, lying near to death for four or five months, recovers its liveliness and eats like a glutton if I moisten its bread for it. What can life be, capable of such intermissions? CHAPTER X THE SLOE-WEEVIL No less skilled than the Vine- and Poplar-weevils in the art of leaf-rolling, the Attelabus and the Apoderus have shown us that, in spite of a dissimilar equipment, the industry may remain the same; they have proved that similarity of aptitude is compatible with diversity of organization. Conversely, different trades may be followed with the same tools; identity of form does not imply equivalence of instinct. Who tells us this? Who puts forward this subversive proposition? The Sloe-weevil (Rhynchites auratus, Scop.) has the audacity to do so.