At last one of the excavators, favoured by the direction taken, reaches the central dairy. It settles there and the thing is done: there is nothing for the rest but to die. How do they come to know that the place is taken? Do they hear their kinsman’s mandibles striking against the wall of his cell? Can they feel the vibration of the nibbling at a distance? Something of the sort must happen, for from that moment they cease their attempts to burrow any farther. Without struggling with the lucky winner, without seeking to dislodge him, those beaten in the race allow themselves to die. I like this frank resignation on the part of the late arrivals. CHAPTER XII THE PEA-WEEVIL: THE LARVA Another condition, that of space, is present as a factor. The Pea-weevil is the largest of our Bruchi. When she attains the adult age she requires a bigger lodging than is demanded by the other seed-destroyers. A pea provides her with a very adequate cell; nevertheless, cohabitation in twos would be impossible: there would be no room, even if the occupants accepted the discomfort. And so the inexorable need returns for reducing the numbers and, in the seed invaded, doing away with all the competitors save one. On the other hand, the broad bean, which is almost as great a favourite of the Bruchus as the pea, is able to house a whole community. The grub that was but now a solitary becomes a cenobite. There is room for five or six more, without encroaching on the neighbours’ domain. Moreover, each grub finds infant-food within its reach, that is to say, the layer which, being at some distance from the surface, hardens slowly and retains the dainty juices for a greater length of time. This inner layer may be regarded as the crumb of an otherwise crusty loaf. In the pea, which is a small sphere, it occupies the central part, a limited area which the grub has to reach or perish; in the bean, a generous muffin, it includes the large joint of the two flat seed-lobes. No matter where the big seed is tackled, each larva need but bore straight ahead and it quickly reaches the coveted food. Then what happens? I add up the eggs adhering to a bean-pod, I count the seeds inside, and on comparing the two totals, I find that there is plenty of room for the whole family, at the rate of five or six to each bean. Here we have no surplus larvæ dying of starvation almost as soon as they leave the egg: all have their share of the ample portion, all live and prosper. The abundance of the provisions counterbalances the mother’s extravagance. If the Bruchus always adopted the broad bean as the establishment of her family, I could very well explain her exuberant emission of germs on a single pod: a rich supply of food, easily acquired, invites a large colony. The pea, on the other hand, puzzles me. What vagary makes the mother abandon her offspring to starvation on this insufficient legumen? Why so many boarders gathered around a seed which forms the ration of one alone?