The Banded Epeira, trusting to the strength of her stuff, fixes her nest in the sight of all, hangs it on the brushwood, taking no precautions whatever to hide it.  And a bad business it proves for her.  Her jar provides me with an Ichneumon {38} possessed of the inoculating larding-pin:  a Cryptus who, as a grub, had fed on Spiders’ eggs.  Nothing but empty shells was left inside the central keg; the germs were completely exterminated.  There are other Ichneumon-flies, moreover, addicted to robbing Spiders’ nests; a basket of fresh eggs is their offspring’s regular food.

Like any other, the Labyrinth Spider dreads the scoundrelly advent of the pickwallet; she provides for it and, to shield herself against it as far as possible, chooses a hiding-place outside her dwelling, far removed from the tell-tale web.  When she feels her ovaries ripen, she shifts her quarters; she goes off at night to explore the neighbourhood and seek a less dangerous refuge.  The points selected are, by preference, the low brambles dragging along the ground, keeping their dense verdure during the winter and crammed with dead leaves from the oaks hard by.  Rosemary-tufts, which gain in thickness what they lose in height on the unfostering rock, suit her particularly.  This is where I usually find her nest, not without long seeking, so well is it hidden.

So far, there is no departure from current usage.  As the world is full of creatures on the prowl for tender mouthfuls, every mother has her apprehensions; she also has her natural wisdom, which advises her to establish her family in secret places.  Very few neglect this precaution; each, in her own manner, conceals the eggs she lays.

In the case of the Labyrinth Spider, the protection of the brood is complicated by another condition.  In the vast majority of instances, the eggs, once lodged in a favourable spot, are abandoned to themselves, left to the chances of good or ill fortune.  The Spider of the brushwood, on the contrary, endowed with greater maternal devotion, has, like the Crab Spider, to mount guard over hers until they hatch.

With a few threads and some small leaves joined together, the Crab Spider builds, above her lofty nest, a rudimentary watch-tower where she stays permanently, greatly emaciated, flattened into a sort of wrinkled shell through the emptying of her ovaries and the total absence of food.  And this mere shred, hardly more than a skin that persists in living without eating, stoutly defends her egg-sack, shows fight at the approach of any tramp.  She does not make up her mind to die until the little ones are gone.

The Labyrinth Spider is better treated.  After laying her eggs, so far from becoming thin, she preserves an excellent appearance and a round belly.  Moreover, she does not lose her appetite and is always prepared to bleed a Locust.  She therefore requires a dwelling with a hunting-box close to the eggs watched over.  We know this dwelling, built in strict accordance with artistic canons under the shelter of my cages.