his hindlegs: the genial paterfamilias has brought his precious
packet from afar, to leave it in the water and afterwards retire under
some flat stone, whence he will emit a sound like a tinkling bell.
Lastly, when not croaking amid the foliage, the tree frogs indulge in
the most graceful dives. And so, in May, as soon as it is dark, the
pond becomes a deafening orchestra: it is impossible to talk at table,
impossible to sleep. We had to remedy this by means perhaps a little
too rigorous. What could we do? He who tries to sleep and cannot needs
becomes ruthless.

Bolder still, the wasp has taken possession of the dwelling house. On my
door sill, in a soil of rubbish, nestles the white-banded Sphex: when
I go indoors, I must be careful not to damage her burrows, not to tread
upon the miner absorbed in her work. It is quite a quarter of a century
since I last saw the saucy cricket hunter. When I made her acquaintance,
I used to visit her at a few miles' distance: each time, it meant an
expedition under the blazing August sun. Today, I find her at my door;
we are intimate neighbors. The embrasure of the closed window provides
an apartment of a mild temperature for the Pelopaeus [a mason wasp]. The
earth-built nest is fixed against the freestone wall. To enter her home,
the spider huntress uses a little hole left open by accident in the
shutters. On the moldings of the Venetian blinds, a few stray mason
bees build their group of cells; inside the outer shutters, left ajar, a
Eumenes [a mason wasp] constructs her little earthen dome, surmounted by
a short, bell-mouthed neck. The common wasp and the Polistes [a solitary
wasp] are my dinner guests: they visit my table to see if the grapes
served are as ripe as they look.

Here, surely--and the list is far from complete--is a company both
numerous and select, whose conversation will not fail to charm my
solitude, if I succeed in drawing it out. My dear beasts of former days,
my old friends, and others, more recent acquaintances, all are here,
hunting, foraging, building in close proximity. Besides, should we wish
to vary the scene of observation, the mountain [Ventoux] is but a
few hundred steps away, with its tangle of arbutus, rock roses and
arborescent heather; with its sandy spaces dear to the Bembeces; with
its marly slopes exploited by different wasps and bees. And that is why,
foreseeing these riches, I have abandoned the town for the village and
come to Serignan to we