But the caterpillar heaved long and deep sighs and ate twice as much cabbage to console himself. Nevertheless, he could not keep from thinking of the uncomfortable visit he had had:
“I have a suspicion,” he said to himself. “An awkward suspicion. If only I could make something of it!”
3
But, when some time had passed, he began to make something of it.
He simply could not satisfy his appetite any longer. The more he ate, the hungrier he became. He munched one piece of cabbage-leaf after another and, nevertheless, he felt quite faint with hunger.
“What is the meaning of this now?” he said, despondently.
“It’s we!” answered something inside him.
“Eh? What?” said the caterpillar and rolled round with terror. “Am I haunted inside, or have I gone mad?”
“It’s we, it’s the ichneumon-flies’ young,” came the sound again from deep down in his stomach.
The caterpillar’s head was in a whirl. But, when he had collected himself a little, he began to understand: