Soon, indeed, the aspect of things is entirely changed.  One of the grubs—­that which occupies the central position in the pea—­begins to grow more quickly than the others.  Scarcely has it surpassed the others in size when the latter cease to eat, and no longer attempt to burrow forwards.  They lie motionless and resigned; they die that gentle death which comes to unconscious lives.  Henceforth the entire pea belongs to the sole survivor.  Now what has happened that these lives around the privileged one should be thus annihilated?  In default of a satisfactory reply, I will propose a suggestion.

In the centre of the pea, less ripened than the rest of the seed by the chemistry of the sun, may there not be a softer pulp, of a quality better adapted to the infantile digestion of the grub?  There, perhaps, being nourished by tenderer, sweeter, and perhaps more tasty tissues, the stomach becomes more vigorous, until it is fit to undertake less easily digested food.  A nursling is fed on milk before proceeding to bread and broth.  May not the central portion of the pea be the feeding-bottle of the Bruchid?

With equal rights, fired by an equal ambition, all the occupants of the pea bore their way towards the delicious morsel.  The journey is laborious, and the grubs must rest frequently in their provisional niches.  They rest; while resting they frugally gnaw the riper tissues surrounding them; they gnaw rather to open a way than to fill their stomachs.

Finally one of the excavators, favoured by the direction taken, attains the central portion.  It establishes itself there, and all is over; the others have only to die.  How are they warned that the place is taken?  Do they hear their brother gnawing at the walls of his lodging? can they feel the vibration set up by his nibbling mandibles?  Something of the kind must happen, for from that moment they make no attempt to burrow further.  Without struggling against the fortunate winner, without seeking to dislodge him, those which are beaten in the race give themselves up to death.  I admire this candid resignation on the part of the departed.

Another condition—­that of space—­is also present as a factor.  The pea-weevil is the largest of our Bruchidae.  When it attains the adult stage it requires a certain amplitude of lodging, which the other weevils do not require in the same degree.  A pea provides it with a sufficiently spacious cell; nevertheless, the cohabitation of two in one pea would be impossible; there would be no room, even were the two to put up with a certain discomfort.  Hence the necessity of an inevitable decimation, which will suppress all the competitors save one.

Now the superior volume of the broad bean, which is almost as much beloved by the weevil as the pea, can lodge a considerable community, and the solitary can live as a cenobite.  Without encroaching on the domain of their neighbours, five or six or more can find room in the one bean.