I see it with the utmost brutality rooting with its mandibles in the articulation of the neck, and often also in the more ample articulation of the corselet, behind the first pair of legs; perfectly aware of the fine membrane in that part, although it does not take advantage of the fact when employing its sting, although this vulnerable point is the more accessible of the two breaches in the bee's armour.

I see it squeezing the bee's stomach, compressing it with its own abdomen, crushing it as in a vice.

The brutality of this manipulation is striking; it shows that there is no more need of care and skill.

The bee is a corpse, and a little extra pushing and squeezing will not deteriorate its quality as food, provided there is no effusion of blood; and however rough the treatment, I have never been able to discover the slightest wound.
These various manipulations, above all the compression of the throat, lead to the desired result: the honey in the stomach of the bee ascends to the mouth.

I see the drops of honey welling out, lapped up by the glutton as soon as they appear.