ntly: "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