It is there that we ought to keep a watch on the misdeeds of the Bruchus, were it not for the fact that we are nearly always weaponless when it comes to fighting an insect.

Indestructible by reason of its numbers, its small size, and its cunning, the little creature laughs at the anger of man.

The gardener curses it, but the weevil is not disturbed: it imperturbably continues its trade of levying tribute.

Happily we have assistants more patient and more clear-sighted than ourselves.
During the first week of August, when the mature Bruchus begins to emerge, I notice a little Chalcidian, the protector of our peas.

In my rearing-cages it issues under my eyes in abundance from the peas infested by the grub of the weevil.