"And that next lot?"
"Soufflons? They are the most imperfect cocoon made. The silk is so loosely spun that it cannot be wound at all, and is good only for floss."
Pierre shook his head despairingly.
"I thought I knew quite a lot about cocoons," he said. "But by the time I go home I shall feel I don't know anything. Why, I never could learn to sort all those kinds if I kept trying for years."
"Only those who have handled thousands of cocoons can," returned his guide consolingly. "I couldn't begin to do it. Here is a pile now! They have a hole in the end and cannot be reeled because every time the thread comes to the perforation it is broken. Probably the moth was allowed to escape and injured the filament. They must be used for floss, too, for they are good for nothing else."
The boys wandered on down the room.
"In this pile you will see what we call good choquettes," resumed Henri. "I must tell you about them, for the species is peculiar. The worm inside them died before finishing its work and stuck onto the inside of the cocoon." He took one from the heap and shook it. "It does not rattle, you see. Nevertheless the filament on it is of excellent quality—not very strong, perhaps, but of fine texture. In contrast to these good choquettes is this tableful of bad choquettes. Like the others the silkworm died during his spinning, but this time he rotted away inside, leaving the cocoon black and mottled."
"Healthy worms make the best cocoons, of course," Pierre rejoined.
"Not at all," contradicted Henri. "Here is what is known as a calcined cocoon made by a worm which had a peculiar disease that turned it to powder. You would not think that such a creature could spin the best quality of silk there is, would you? Yet it is so. Listen to the queer rattle the cocoon has."