Last comes a second mass of woody remnants, as easy to disperse as the first.

The road is now free: the Cerambyx has but to follow the spacious vestibule, which will lead him, without the possibility of mistake, to the exit.

Should the window not be open, all that he has to do is to gnaw through a thin screen: an easy task; and behold him outside, his long antennae aquiver with excitement.
What have we learnt from him?
Nothing, from him; much from his grub.
This grub, so poor in sensory organs, gives us no little food for reflection with its prescience.

It knows that the coming Beetle will not be able to cut himself a road through the oak and it bethinks itself of opening one for him at its own risk and peril.

It knows that the Cerambyx, in his stiff armour, will never be able to turn and make for the orifice of the cell; and it takes care to fall into its nymphal sleep with its head to the door.