visitor. The middle of May approaches, and with it the van of the
invasion.

They settle on the flowers, which are not unlike white-winged
butterflies. I see them at the base of the blossom or inside the cavity
of the "keel" of the flower, but the majority explore the petals and
take possession of them. The time for laying the eggs has not yet
arrived. The morning is mild; the sun is warm without being oppressive.
It is the moment of nuptial flights; the time of rejoicing in the
splendor of the sunshine. Everywhere are creatures rejoicing to be
alive. Couples come together, part, and re-form. When towards noon the
heat becomes too great, the weevils retire into the shadow, taking
refuge singly in the folds of the flowers whose secret corners they know
so well. To-morrow will be another day of festival, and the next day
also, until the pods, emerging from the shelter of the "keel" of the
flower, are plainly visible, enlarging from day to day.

A few gravid females, more pressed for time than the others, confide
their eggs to the growing pod, flat and meager as it issues from its
floral sheath. These hastily laid batches of eggs, expelled perhaps by
the exigencies of an ovary incapable of further delay, seem to me in
serious danger; for the seed in which the grub must establish itself is
as yet no more than a tender speck of green, without firmness and
without any farinaceous tissue. No larva could possibly find sufficient
nourishment there, unless it waited for the pea to mature.

But is the grub capable of fasting for any length of time when once
hatched? It is doubtful. The little I have seen tells me that the
newborn grub must establish itself in the midst of its food as quickly
as possible, and that it perishes unless it can do so. I am therefore of