Whether soon or late, the fall of the larva leaves suspended the thread by which it hung, the wrappings of the primary larva.  When all the brood have disappeared, the aperture of the nest is thus hung with a branch of fine, short threads, twisted and knotted together, like dried white of egg.  Each thread is expanded into a tiny cup at its free end.  These are very delicate and ephemeral relics, which perish at a touch.  The least wind quickly blows them away.

Let us return to the larva.  Sooner or later, as we have seen, it falls to the ground, either by accident or intention.  The tiny creature, no bigger than a flea, has preserved its tender newly-hatched flesh from contact with the rough earth by hanging in the air until its tissues have hardened.  Now it plunges into the troubles of life.

I foresee a thousand dangers ahead.  A mere breath of wind may carry this atom away, and cast it on that inaccessible rock in the midst of a rut in the road which still contains a little water; or on the sand, the region of famine where nothing grows; or upon a soil of clay, too tenacious to be tunnelled.  These mortal accidents are frequent, for gusts of wind are frequent in the windy and already severe weather of the end of October.

This delicate organism requires a very soft soil, which can easily be entered, so that it may immediately obtain a suitable shelter.  The cold days are coming; soon the frosts will be here.  To wander on the surface would expose it to grave perils.  It must contrive without delay to descend into the earth, and that to no trivial depth.  This is the unique and imperative condition of safety, and in many cases it is impossible of realisation.  What use are the claws of this tiny flea against rock, sandstone, or hardened clay?  The creature must perish if it cannot find a subterranean refuge in good time.

Everything goes to show that the necessity of this first foothold on the soil, subject as it is to so many accidents, is the cause of the great mortality in the Cigale family.  The little black parasite, the destroyer of eggs, in itself evokes the necessity of a large batch of eggs; and the difficulty which the larva experiences in effecting a safe lodgment in the earth is yet another explanation of the fact that the maintenance of the race at its proper strength requires a batch of three or four hundred eggs from each mother.  Subject to many accidents, the Cigale is fertile to excess.  By the prodigality of her ovaries she conjures the host of perils which threaten her offspring.

During the rest of my experiment I can at least spare the larvae the worst difficulties of their first establishment underground.  I take some soil from the heath, which is very soft and almost black, and I pass it through a fine sieve.  Its colour will enable me more easily to find the tiny fair-skinned larvae when I wish to inform myself of passing events; its lightness makes it a suitable refuge for such weak and fragile