about.

A little reassured by this conjecture, I take my stand at the foot
of the rock, under a broiling sun; and, for half a day, I follow
the evolutions of my flies. They flit quietly in front of the
slope, at a few inches from the earthy covering. They go from one
orifice to the next, but without even penetrating. For that
matter, their big wings, extended crosswise even when at rest,
would resist their entrance into a gallery, which is too narrow to
admit those spreading sails. And so they explore the cliff, going
to and fro and up and down, with a flight that is now sudden, now
smooth and slow. From time to time, I see the Anthrax quickly
approach the wall and lower her abdomen as though to touch the
earth with the end of her ovipositor. This proceeding takes no
longer than the twinkling of an eye. When it is done, the insect
alights elsewhere and rests. Then it resumes its sober
flight, its long investigations and its sudden blows with the tip
of its belly against the layer of earth. The Bombylii [bee flies]
observe similar tactics when soaring at a short height above the
ground.

I at once rushed to the spot touched, lens in hand, in the hope of
finding the egg which everything told me was laid during that tap
of the abdomen. I could distinguish nothing, in spite of the
closest attention. It is true that my exhaustion, together with
the blinding light and scorching heat, made examination very
difficult. Afterwards, when I made the acquaintance of the tiny
thing that issues from that egg, my failure no longer surprised me.
In the leisure of my study, with my eyes rested and with my most
powerful glasses held in a hand no longer shaking with excitement