Strange cartoonish bee-voices reappear. Another  Jacob  stands with the top section of the  ruche  in his hands. He is looking in through the  parallèle  frames, perhaps for something incongruous. A piece of eight, a sub-miniature herd of cows, bullet casings... anything at all, and nothing will surprise him.     Il y avait des voix à l'intérieur de la ruche.