purpose with its host that the least fold of skin conceals it from
my view. After watching it one day through the lens, I sometimes
fail to find it again on the morrow. I think that I have lost it,
that it has perished under the weight of the overturned larva and
returned to that nothing to which it was so closely akin. Then it
moves and I see it again. For a whole fortnight, there was no
limit to my perplexity. Was it really the original larva of the
Anthrax? Yes, for I at last saw my bantlings transform themselves
into the larva previously described and make their first start at
draining their victims with kisses. A few moments of satisfaction
like those which I then enjoyed make up for many a weary hour.

Let us resume the story of the wee animal, now recognized as the
genuine origin of the Anthrax. It is a tiny worm about a
millimeter long and almost as slender as a hair. It is very
difficult to see because of its transparency. When tucked away in
a fold of the skin of its fostering larva, an excessively fine
skin, it remains undiscoverable to the lens. But the feeble
creature is very active: it tramps over the sides of the rich
morsel, walks all round it. It covers the ground pretty quickly,
buckling and unbuckling by turns, very much after the manner of the
looper caterpillar. Its two extremities are its chief points of
support. When at a standstill, it moves its front half in every
direction, as though to explore the space around it; when walking,
it swells out, magnifies its segments and then looks like a bit of
knotted string.

The microscope shows us thirteen rings, including the head. This
head is small, slightly horny, as is proved by its amber color, and
bristles in front with a small number of short, stiff hairs. On