that depth, or to seek
in the subsoil, is impossible. Its fragile limbs, barely able to move a
grain of sand, its extended wings, which would bar all progress in a
narrow passage, and its costume of bristling silken pile, which would
prevent it from slipping through crevices, all make such a task
impossible. The Sapromyzon is forced to lay its eggs on the surface of
the soil, but it does so on the precise spot which overlies the truffle,
for the grubs would perish if they had to wander at random in search of
their provender, the truffle being always thinly sown.

The truffle fly is informed by the sense of smell of the points
favourable to its maternal plans; it has the talents of the truffle-dog,
and doubtless in a higher degree, for it knows naturally, without having
been taught, what its rival only acquires through an artificial
education.

It would be not uninteresting to follow the Sapromyzon in its search in
the open woods. Such a feat did not strike me as particularly possible;
the insect is rare, flies off quickly when alarmed, and is lost to
view. To observe it closely under such conditions would mean a loss of
time and an assiduity of which I do not feel capable. Another
truffle-hunter will show us what we could hardly learn from the fly.

This is a pretty little black beetle, with a pale, velvety abdomen; a
spherical insect, as large as a biggish cherry-stone. Its official title
is _Bolboceras gallicus_, Muls. By rubbing the end of the abdomen
against the edge of the wing-cases it produces a gentle chirping sound
like the cheeping of nestlings when the mother-bird returns to the nest
with food. The male wears a graceful horn on his head; a duplicate, in
little, of that of the _Copris hispanus_.

Deceived by this horn, I at first took the insect for a member of the
corporation of dung-beetles, and as such I reared it in captivity. I
offered it the kind of diet most appreciated by its supposed relatives,
but never, never would it touch such food. For whom did I take it? Fie
upon me! To offer ordure to an epicure! It required, if not precisely
the truffle known to our _chefs_ and _gourmets_, at least its
equivalent.

This characteristic I grasped only after patient investigation. At the
southern foot of the hills of Serignan, not far from the village, is a
wood of maritime pines alternating with rows of cypress. There, towards
Toussaint, after the autumnal rains, you may find an abundance of the
mushrooms