Now this palace of silk, when all is said, is nothing more than a guard-house.  Behind the soft, milky opalescence of the wall glimmers the egg-tabernacle, with its form vaguely suggesting the star of some order of knighthood.  It is a large pocket, of a splendid dead-white, isolated on every side by radiating pillars which keep it motionless in the centre of the tapestry.  These pillars are about ten in number and are slender in the middle, expanding at one end into a conical capital and at the other into a base of the same shape.  They face one another and mark the position of the vaulted corridors which allow free movement in every direction around the central chamber.  The mother walks gravely to and fro under the arches of her cloisters, she stops first here, then there; she makes a lengthy auscultation of the egg-wallet; she listens to all that happens inside the satin wrapper.  To disturb her would be barbarous.

For a closer examination, let us use the dilapidated nests which we brought from the fields.  Apart from its pillars, the egg-pocket is an inverted conoid, reminding us of the work of the Silky Epeira.  Its material is rather stout; my pincers, pulling at it, do not tear it without difficulty.  Inside the bag there is nothing but an extremely fine, white wadding and, lastly, the eggs, numbering about a hundred and comparatively large, for they measure a millimetre and a half. {37} They are very pale amber-yellow beads, which do not stick together and which roll freely as soon as I remove the swan’s-down shroud.  Let us put everything into a glass-tube to study the hatching.

We will now retrace our steps a little.  When laying-time comes, the mother forsakes her dwelling, her crater into which her falling victims dropped, her labyrinth in which the flight of the Midges was cut short; she leaves intact the apparatus that enabled her to live at her ease.  Thoughtful of her natural duties, she goes to found another establishment at a distance.  Why at a distance?

She has still a few long months to live and she needs nourishment.  Were it not better, then, to lodge the eggs in the immediate neighbourhood of the present home and to continue her hunting with the excellent snare at her disposal?  The watching of the nest and the easy acquisition of provender would go hand in hand.  The Spider is of another opinion; and I suspect the reason.

The sheet-net and the labyrinth that surmounts it are objects visible from afar, owing to their whiteness and the height whereat they are placed.  Their scintillation in the sun, in frequented paths, attracts Mosquitoes and Butterflies, like the lamps in our rooms and the fowler’s looking-glass.  Whoso comes to look at the bright thing too closely dies the victim of his curiosity.  There is nothing better for playing upon the folly of the passer-by, but also nothing more dangerous to the safety of the family.

Harpies will not fail to come running at this signal, showing up against the green; guided by the position of the web, they will assuredly find the precious purse; and a strange grub, feasting on a hundred new-laid eggs, will ruin the establishment.  I do not know these enemies, not having sufficient materials at my disposal for a register of the parasites; but, from indications gathered elsewhere, I suspect them.