preserved, the mandibles and certain details of the general configuration
lead me to suspect the larva of a Lamellicorn.

It is getting late. This is enough for to-day. I am worn out, but amply
repaid for my exertions by a broken cocoon and the puzzling skin of a
wretched grub. Young people who make a hobby of natural history, would you
like to discover whether the sacred fire flows in your veins? Imagine
yourselves returning from such an expedition. You are carrying on your
shoulder the peasant's heavy spade; your loins are stiff with the laborious
digging which you have just finished in a crouching position; the heat of
an August afternoon has set your brain simmering; your eyelids are tired by
the itch of an inflammation resulting from the overpowering light in which
you have been working; you have a devouring thirst; and before you lies the
dusty prospect of the miles that divide you from your well-earned rest. Yet
something stings within you; forgetful of your present woes you are
absolutely glad of your excursion. Why? Because you have in your possession
a shred of rotten skin. If this is so, my young friends, you may go ahead,
for you will do something, though I warn you that this does not mean, by a
long way, that you will get on in the world.

I examined this shred of skin with all the care that it deserved. My first
suspicions were confirmed: a Lamellicorn, a Scarabaeid in the larval state,
is the first food of the Wasp whose cocoon I have just unearthed. But which
of the Scarabaeidae? And does this cocoon, my precious booty, really belong
to the Scoliae? The problem is beginning to take shape. To attempt its
solution we must go back to the Bois des Issards.

I did go back and so often that my patience ended by being exhausted before
the problem of the Scoliae had received a satisfactory solution. The
difficulties are great indeed, under the conditions. Where am I to dig in