The gate of issue is opened and left gaping, like a hole made with an augur.  For some little time the larva wanders about the neighbourhood of its burrow, seeking an eyrie on some low-growing bush or tuft of thyme, on a stem of grass or grain, or the twig of a shrub.  Once found, it climbs and firmly clasps its support, the head upwards, while the talons of the fore feet close with an unyielding grip.  The other claws, if the direction of the twig is convenient, assist in supporting it; otherwise the claws of the two fore legs will suffice.  There follows a moment of repose, while the supporting limbs stiffen in an unbreakable hold.  Then the thorax splits along the back, and through the fissure the insect slowly emerges.  The whole process lasts perhaps half an hour.

There is the adult insect, freed of its mask, and how different from what it was but how!  The wings are heavy, moist, transparent, with nervures of a tender green.  The thorax is barely clouded with brown.  All the rest of the body is a pale green, whitish in places.  Heat and a prolonged air-bath are necessary to harden and colour the fragile creature.  Some two hours pass without any perceptible change.  Hanging to its deserted shell by the two fore limbs, the Cigale sways to the least breath of air, still feeble and still green.  Finally, the brown colour appears and rapidly covers the whole body; the change of colour is completed in half an hour.  Fastening upon its chosen twig at nine o’clock in the morning, the Cigale flies away under my eyes at half-past twelve.

The empty shell remains, intact except for the fissure in the back; clasping the twig so firmly that the winds of autumn do not always succeed in detaching it.  For some months yet and even during the winter you will often find these forsaken skins hanging from the twigs in the precise attitude assumed by the larva at the moment of metamorphosis.  They are of a horny texture, not unlike dry parchment, and do not readily decay.

I could gather some wonderful information regarding the Cigale were I to listen to all that my neighbours, the peasants, tell me.  I will give one instance of rustic natural history.

[Illustration:  THE CIGALE AND THE EMPTY PUPA-SKIN.]

Are you afflicted with any kidney trouble, or are you swollen with dropsy, or have you need of some powerful diuretic?  The village pharmacopoeia is unanimous in recommending the Cigale as a sovereign remedy.  The insects in the adult form are collected in summer.  They are strung into necklaces which are dried in the sun and carefully preserved in some cupboard or drawer.  A good housewife would consider it imprudent to allow July to pass without threading a few of these insects.