"I thought they spoke only by signs which they make with the arms
that come out of their heads," said Piccolissima, still going
nearer; "why, then, this noise?"

The little girl was soon convinced that this noise was produced by
the numerous and busy footsteps of a solemn, austere, and
preoccupied crowd of ants. Not a word was said, but every one ran
rather than walked, and they seemed like a thousand individuals, all
actuated by one purpose. Supported on the lower branch of a chestnut
tree, Piccolissima placed herself a little higher, but very near the
citadel, which was one living mountain.

How can we relate what she saw then? It would take volumes. There
would be as many histories as individuals. Her attention was
attracted by the perseverance of one ant who carried a burden; by
another who was striving to get over some obstacle. She saw them
feed those who arrived laden and out of breath; she saw those who
repaired the doors, who opened and shut the windows, which were not
glazed like ours; others she saw as sentinels, standing on their
hind legs, charged to watch over the general safety. The busiest
carried in their mandibles, caressed with their legs and their
antennae, licked with their delicate tongues, exposed to the sun, or
carried quickly into the shade certain white balls which
Piccolissima took at first for grains of wheat, because they had the
form and size; but she was satisfied at last that these were the
children of the ants in swaddling clothes. Piccolissima was so
anxious to comprehend the mysterious talk, and the pantomime of all
this innumerable crowd, that she became yet more attentive. The
nurses caressed with their antennae in a peculiar way those eggs