hows no inclination to rest.

"All these cares are for one egg which she has laid,--for a single egg
which she will never see hatched; besides, that which will issue from
that egg will not be a fly like herself, but a worm, which will not be
metamorphosed into a fly for some time afterwards. She has, however,
hidden it in that hole, and knows precisely how much nourishment it will
require before it arrives at the state which ushers in its
transformation into a fly. This nourishment she goes to seek, and she
seasons and prepares it. There, she is gone again!

"But what is this other brilliant little fly which is walking up the
house-wall? Her breast is green, and her abdomen is of a purple red; but
these two colors are so brilliant that I am really at a loss to find
words splendid enough to express them, but the names of an emerald and a
ruby joined together.

"That pretty fly--that living jewel--is the 'Chrysis.' I scarcely dare
breathe, for fear of making it fly away. I should like to take it in my
hands, that I might have sufficient time to examine it more closely.
This likewise is the mother of a family; she also has an egg to lay,
from which will issue a fly like herself, but which she will never see.
She also knows how much nourishment her offspring will require; but,
more richly clothed than the bee, she does not, like her, know how to
gather the pollen from flowers or to make a paste of it with honey.

"She has but one resource, and that resource she is determined to
employ; she will recoil neither from roguery nor theft to secure the
subsistence of her offspring; she has recognized the solitary bee, and
she is going to lay her egg in her nest. It will hatch sooner than that
of the true proprietor; then the intruder will eat the provisions so
painfully collected for the legitimate child, who, when it is hatched in
its turn, will have nothing to do but to die of hunger.

"There she is at the edge of the hole,--she hesitates,--she
decides,--she enters.

"This insect interests me, she is so beautiful. The other likewise
interests me, she is so industrious. But here she comes back through the
air: one would think her a warrior covered with chased armor and a
golden cuirass; she buzzes as she comes along. The Chrysis has heard the
buzzing, which is for her the terrible sound of a war-trumpet. She
wishes to fly; she comes out; but the other, justly irritated, pounces
upon the daring intruder, beating it with her