The month of May is near; the Sisyphus should have appeared.

Now we must explore at the foot of the mountain, the scanty pastures through which the herds have passed; we must break with our fingers, one by one, the cakes of sheep-dung dried by the sun, but still retaining a spot of moisture in the centre.

There we shall find Sisyphus, cowering and waiting until the evening for fresher pasturage.
Possessed of this secret, which I learned from previous fortuitous discoveries, little Paul immediately becomes a master in the art of dislodging the beetle.

He shows such zeal, has such an instinct for likely hiding-places, that after a brief search I am rich beyond my ambitions.

Behold me the owner of six couples of Sisyphus beetles: an unheard-of number, which I had never hoped to obtain.
For their maintenance a wire-gauze cover suffices, with a bed of sand and diet to their taste.