"No. Do you think I might strike a match?"
"Ah, no, monsieur, not in the Opera House, They are so particular."
"I see—at least, I don't, and that's the trouble. However—"
I felt over the balcony again. No good.
"Where did mademoiselle sit, monsieur?"
"Where are you?"
I groped in the direction of the whisper and found an arm.
"In that chair there," I said, guiding her to it.
"Here, monsieur?"
"Yes, that's right."