The Narbonne Lycosa: The Family
legs she holds the white pill, bulging with germs, lifted above the entrance; gently she turns and returns it, so as to present every side to the life-giving rays. And this goes on for half the day, as long as the temperature is high; and it is repeated daily, with exquisite patience, during three or four weeks. To hatch its eggs, the bird covers them with the quilt of its breast; it strains them to the furnace of its heart. The Lycosa turns hers in front of the hearth of hearths: she gives them the sun as an incubator.
In the early days of September, the young ones, who have been some time hatched, are ready to come out. The pill rips open along the middle fold. We read of the origin of this fold in an earlier chapter.[1] Does the mother, feeling the brood quicken inside the satin wrapper, herself break open the vessel at the opportune moment? It seems probable. On the other hand, there may be a spontaneous bursting, such as we shall see later in the Banded Epeira's balloon, a tough wallet which opens a breach of its own accord, long after the mother has ceased to exist.
- ↑ Chapter III. of the present volume.—Translator's Note.
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