all hope I proposed once more to examine the egg-chambers and their
contents. The morning was cold, and the first fire of the season had
been lit in my room. I placed my little bundle on a chair before the
fire, but without any intention of testing the effect of the heat of the
flames upon the concealed eggs. The twigs, which I was about to cut
open, one by one, were placed there to be within easy reach of my hand,
and for no other reason.

Then, while I was examining a split twig with my magnifying-glass, the
phenomenon which I had given up all hope of observing took place under
my eyes. My bundle of twigs was suddenly alive; scores and scores of the
young larvæ were emerging from their egg-chambers. Their numbers were
such that my ambition as observer was amply satisfied. The eggs were
ripe, on the point of hatching, and the warmth of the fire, bright and
penetrating, had the effect of sunlight in the open. I was quick to
profit by the unexpected piece of good fortune.

At the orifice of the egg-chamber, among the torn fibres of the bark, a
little cone-shaped body is visible, with two black eye-spots; in
appearance it is precisely like the fore portion of the butter-coloured
egg; or, as I have said, like the fore portion of a tiny fish. You would
think that an egg had been somehow displaced, had been removed from the
bottom of the chamber to its aperture. An egg to move in this narrow
passage! a walking egg! No, that is impossible; eggs "do not do such
things!" This is some mistake. We will break open the twig, and the
mystery is unveiled. The actual eggs are where they always were, though
they are slightly disarranged. They are empty, reduced to the condition
of transparent skins, split wide open at the upper end. From them has
issued the singular organism whose most notable characteristics are as
follows:--