Her teacher paused for a moment, perhaps to allow the whisperer time for objection, if there were one to make, but as nothing came she said cheerfully: 

“Good!  Now let me think of another.”

“Nine ought three, and fifteen nine seven,” prompted the hidden voice.

“Ah, here is a fine one!  Nine ought—­” she hesitated, “fifteen—­”

The voice corrected her impatiently:  “Nine ought three, and fifteen nine seven.”

In the same whisper she answered “Hush!” warningly, before repeating the figures aloud and correctly.  The girl, on her part, returned rapidly and indifferently: 

“Twenty-five hundred.”

“She seems a different creature when she is doing it!” Marie exclaimed admiringly.  “Now one more, and then I must run down and see in what sort of a temper Monsieur Plon finds himself.  If it is good, he will lend me his journal.  At any rate, I shall only be gone a moment. Allons! Something difficult, something to take away, shall it be?”

As before the whisper responded: 

“From thirteen thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine, take eight thousand five hundred and four.”

Madame Didier began in a puzzled voice, “From eight thousand five hundred and four, take thirteen—­” but, seeing Perine shake her head, caught herself up.  “No, no, not that, of course not that!”

“The other way, stupid woman!” said the whisper.

Slowly she started again, “From thirteen thousand,” and, interprompted by the mysterious voice, arrived at the end of her sum, “nine hundred and—­fifty—­nine—­take—­eight—­thousand—­five hundred—­and—­four.”

Quick as thought came the answer: 

“Five thousand four hundred and fifty-five.”

“All those fives!  You are really a wonder, Perine!” said Marie happily.  “I never could do anything like that, decidedly I am only fit to make soup.  Well, every one to his trade—­we can’t dine upon figures.  If we could you would provide us with plenty, eh, my child?  But now I have something for you to do while I am away.  Here is the stool; I am going to put it before the fire, so, and you shall sit upon it and watch the pot for me.  Don’t move, and don’t look behind you, and then, by-and-by, you shall have a basin of the soup.  If only I had something to put into it, something good, for bread and onions are not too fattening.  However, there is plenty to be thankful for.  Remember, Perine, you must not take your eyes off the soup.”

The girl, who seemed to have the faculty of obedience, sat down where she was directed, and fastened her stolid gaze upon the pot.  For a time there was absolute silence in the garret, a ray of cold winter sunshine, cold but bright (for this was Paris), streamed in through the little window in the roof, and fell on Perine’s slouching figure and coarse hair.  Less than five minutes, however, had passed, when the chintz curtains of the alcove shook, parted, and from between them looked out a pale and haggard man’s face.