not require a second. We must, therefore, look for an explanation of
this sudden death to the vital importance of the point attacked by the
Spider, rather than to the virulence of the poison.

What is this point? It is impossible to recognize it on the Bumble-bees.
They enter the burrow; and the murder is committed far from sight. Nor
does the lens discover any wound upon the corpse, so delicate are the
weapons that produce it. One would have to see the two adversaries
engage in a direct contest. I have often tried to place a Tarantula and
a Bumble-bee face to face in the same bottle. The two animals mutually
flee each other, each being as much upset as the other at its captivity.
I have kept them together for twenty-four hours, without aggressive
display on either side. Thinking more of their prison than of attacking
each other, they temporize, as though indifferent. The experiment has
always been fruitless. I have succeeded with Bees and Wasps, but the
murder has been committed at night and has taught me nothing. I would
find both insects, next morning, reduced to a jelly under the Spider's
mandibles. A weak prey is a mouthful which the Spider reserves for the
calm of the night. A prey capable of resistance is not attacked in
captivity. The prisoner's anxiety cools the hunter's ardour.

The arena of a large bottle enables each athlete to keep out of the
other's way, respected by her adversary, who is respected in her turn.
Let us reduce the lists, diminish the enclosure. I put Bumble-bee and
Tarantula into a test-tube that has only room for one at the bottom. A
lively brawl ensues, without serious results. If the Bumble-bee be
underneath, she lies down on her back and with her legs wards off the
other as much as she can. I do not see her draw her sting. The Spider,
meanwhile, embracing the whole circumference of the enclosure with her
long legs, hoists herself a little upon the slippery surface and removes