Emile, who suspects it is bees, would like to return to the house. His old misadventure with the hive has left him with lively remembrances. To reassure him his uncle takes him by the hand. Emile bravely approaches the currant-bush. What risk can he run with his uncle? Jules and Claire come close also; it is worth the trouble. Now, on the currant-bush hangs a bunch of bees, all close together. Some belated ones come from here and there, choose a good place, and cling on to the preceding ones. The branch bends under the burden, for there are several thousands on it. The first arrivals, doubtless the most robust, since they will have to support the whole load, have seized the branch with the claws of their forefeet; others have come and fastened themselves to the hind feet of the first bees, and in their turn have served as suspension points to a third rank; then, gradually, to a fourth, fifth, sixth, and more still, meantime diminishing in number, until finally they are all clinging there by their hands, as one might say. The children stand in wonder before the bunch of bees, whose red down and lustrous wings shine in the sun; but they prudently keep at a distance. “Do we not run the risk of being stung by getting so near?” Jules asked. “In their present condition bees rarely make use of their sting. If you foolishly went and tormented them, I would not answer for their conduct; but leave them alone, and you can watch them at your ease, without any fear. They have other cares now than thinking of stinging little curious boys!” “And what cares? They look very peaceful; one would say they were all asleep.” “The grave cares of a people who have no country and seek to create one for themselves.” “Bees have a country, then?” “They have a hive, which amounts to the same thing for them.” “Then they are looking for a hive to live in?” “They are looking for a hive.” “And where do these homeless bees come from?” “They come from the old hive in the garden.” “They might have stayed there, instead of going out to seek their fortunes.” “They could not. The population of the hive increased, and there was not room enough for all. So the most adventurous, under the guidance of a queen, expatriated themselves to found a colony elsewhere. The emigrating troop is called a swarm.” “The queen who leads the swarm—she must be there in the common bunch?” “She is. It is she who, alighting on the currant-bush, determined the halt of the entire company.” These words, country, queen, emigrants, colony, had impressed the children’s imaginations; they were astonished to hear the terms of human politics applied to bees. Questions came one after another, but Uncle Paul turned a deaf ear. “Wait until the swarm is gathered into the hive, and I will tell you at length the splendid story of the bees. At present I will only answer Claire’s question as to why Jacques and Mother Ambroisine tapped on the watering-pot and the saucepan.