I have seen them nibbling the ends of the Cigale's claws; I have caught them tugging the ends of her wings, climbing on her back, tickling her antennae.

One audacious individual so far forgot himself under my eyes as to seize her proboscis, endeavouring to extract it from the well! Thus hustled by these dwarfs, and at the end of her patience, the giantess finally abandons the well.

She flies away, throwing a jet of liquid excrement over her tormentors as she goes.

But what cares the Ant for this expression of sovereign contempt?
She is left in possession of the spring--only too soon exhausted when the pump is removed that made it flow.

There is little left, but that little is sweet.