The Spider comes rushing up, binds the prey, nibbles at it gently and withdraws, waiting for the bite to take effect.

I then take the insect and carefully strip it of its silken shroud.

The Locust is not dead; far from it; one would even think that he had suffered no harm.

I examine the released prisoner through the lens in vain; I can see no trace of a wound.
Can he be unscathed, in spite of the sort of kiss which I saw given to him just now?
You would be ready to say so, judging by the furious way in which he kicks in my fingers.

Nevertheless, when put on the ground, he walks awkwardly, he seems reluctant to hop.