The network is fastened to the branches by a host of lines, all of them very easy to cross.

Well, the Epeira embarks upon none of them, but remains moveless and self-absorbed.
Why?
Because her telegraph, being out of order, no longer tells her of the shaking of the web.

The captured prey is too far off for her to see it; she is all unwitting.

A good hour passes, with the Locust still kicking, the Spider impassive, myself watching.

Nevertheless, in the end, the Epeira wakes up: no longer feeling the signalling-thread, broken by my scissors, as taut as usual under her legs, she comes to look into the state of things.