sformation, my
grubs leave the dining-room of the watch-glass as they would have left
the caterpillar's belly; they come to the ground to try and weave their
tiny cocoons. They fail in the attempt and perish. They have missed a
suitable support, that is to say, the silky carpet provided by the
dying caterpillar. No matter: I have seen enough to convince me. The
larvae of the Microgaster do not eat in the strict sense of the word;
they live on soup; and that soup is the caterpillar's blood.

Examine the parasites closely and you shall see that their diet is
bound to be a liquid one. They are little white grubs, neatly
segmented, with a pointed forepart splashed with tiny black marks, as
though the atom had been slaking its thirst in a drop of ink. It moves
its hind-quarters slowly, without shifting its position. I place it
under the microscope. The mouth is a pore, devoid of any apparatus for
disintegration-work: it has no fangs, no horny nippers, no mandibles;
its attack is just a kiss. It does not chew, it sucks, it takes
discreet sips at the moisture all around it.

The fact that it refrains entirely from biting is confirmed by my
autopsy of the stricken caterpillars. In the patient's belly,
notwithstanding the number of nurselings who hardly leave room for the
nurse's entrails, everything is in perfect order; nowhere do we see a
trace of mutilation. Nor does aught on the outside betray any havoc
within. The exploited caterpillars graze and move about peacefully,
giving no sign of pain. It is impossible for me to distinguish them
from the unscathed ones in respect of appetite and untroubled
digestion.

When the time approaches to weave the carpet for the support of the
chrysalis, an appearance of emaciation at last points to the evil that
is at their vitals. They spin nevertheless. They are stoics who do not
forget their duty in the hour of death. At last they expire, quite
softly, not of any wounds, but of anaemia, even as a lamp goes out when
the oil comes to an end. And it has to be. The living caterpillar,
capable of feeding himself and forming blood, is a necessity for the
welfare of the grubs; he has to last about a month, until the
Microgaster's offspring have achieved their full growth. The two
calendars synchronize in a remarkable way. When the caterpillar leaves
off eating and makes his preparations for the metamorphosis, the
parasites are ripe for the exodus. The bottle dries up when the
drinkers cease