The tit-bit lies in a spacious crypt, with firm walls, a regular workshop, worthy of being the bake-house of a Copris-beetle.

Except for the fur, which is lying in scattered flocks, it is intact.

The grave-diggers have not eaten into it; it is the patrimony of the sons, not the provision of the parents, who, in order to sustain themselves, levy at most a few mouthfuls of the ooze of putrid humours.
Beside the dish which they are kneading and protecting are two Necrophori; a couple, no more.

Four collaborated in the burial.

What has become of the other two, both males?
I find them hidden in the soil, at a distance, almost at the surface.
This observation is not an isolated one.