In the thick foliage of the plane-trees there is a sudden sound like a cry of anguish, short and strident.

It is the despairing lamentation of the Cigale surprised in the silence by the grasshopper, that ardent hunter of the night, which leaps upon the Cigale, seizes it by the flank, tears it open, and devours the contents of the stomach.

After the orgy of music comes night and assassination.
I obtained an insight into this tragedy in the following manner: I was walking up and down before my door at daybreak when something fell from the neighbouring plane-tree uttering shrill squeaks.

I ran to see what it was.

I found a green grasshopper eviscerating a struggling Cigale.