"It's the work of a child to take a purse out of a pocket. If you can't get your hand in, insert a straw covered with bird-lime. That device is excellent in crowd-work." Marceline sat up in bed and stared at him. Theophrastus had never worn a more natural air. He was pulling on his pants. "There's a button off the waist-band," he grumbled. "You terrify me, Theophrastus!" said Marceline in a shaky voice. "And a good job too!" said her husband, going down on his hands and knees to recover his braces which had fallen under the bed. "One only does good work with a good woman. And I can't do anything with you. You will never be a good bustler." "A good--what?" "A good bustler. Next time you go to the Maison-Dorée, buy me a pair of braces. These are rotten. You don't even know what a bustler is. You ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age. A bustler is a person of your sex who is clever at hiding anything one gets hold of in her frock. I never had a better bustler than Jenny Venus." "My poor child!" groaned Marceline. An access of furious anger seized Theophrastus. He dashed at the bed brandishing the button-hook, and cried: "You know--you know perfectly well that I've forbidden anyone to call me '_Child_' ever since the death of Jenny Venus!" Marceline promised that she would never do it again. But oh, how profoundly she regretted having become, along with her husband, the owner of a document which promised them treasures, but which brought into their home trouble, fear, violence, madness, and the inexplicable. After Marie-Antoinette came Jenny Venus. She was unacquainted with either lady; and she had no desire to make their acquaintance. But Theophrastus spoke of them with a disquieting familiarity. In truth the unexpected phrases which fell from his lips, while filling her with a dread of the Theophrastus of two hundred years ago, made her regret indeed the Theophrastus, so easy to understand, of a few days before. She thought of the theory of Reincarnation with the unkindest feelings. Theophrastus had finished dressing. He complained bitterly that a tear in his flowered waistcoat had not been mended. Then he said that he would not lunch at home, since he had an appointment to meet his _friend Old Easy-Going_, at the corner of Guénégaud and Mazarine Streets, _to play a trick on a Monsieur de Traneuse, an engineer officer for whom he had a strong dislike_; but since the appointment was after lunch, he thought he would go and _take the air at the Chopinettes mill_ first. Marceline was trembling pitiably. She hardly had the strength to say: "It's very bad weather to go to Chopinettes mill." "Bah! _I'll leave my green umbrella at home and take my Black Feather with me_," said Theophrastus. With that he went out, putting the finishing touch to his cravat as he went.