"Got a ticket, Mister?" said one of them, holding the green pasteboard card to Lucian.
Lucian, who was really an amiable youth, had quickly recovered from his annoyance with Martine, and would not gratify Robert by showing vexation that the latter had been more successful in finding the hall. He suspected the truth—that Martine had helped Robert, and since they were now at the hall, what did it matter?
"Got a ticket, Mister?" A second boy held out his hand to Lucian.
"Of course, that's why we're here," replied Lucian. "Are you selling them?"
"No, we're giving them away. We want an aujence," was the astonishing response.
"What does he mean?"
"We'll soon know, Martine," said Priscilla, following the two others up a long flight of dimly-lit stairs.
"Did you ever?" Martine gazed around the hall as they entered; "there are not ten people here."
"Just thirty." Priscilla was nothing if not accurate.
"But I thought Angelina said she had sold two hundred tickets, Martine."