"There, don't cry!" she said, "crying does no good, and it was an accident. You'll be more careful another time, won't you? Try to move gently, and look where you go, or some day you will hurt yourself. At present let me see you stand well against the wall, so! I put on the soup—and we are ready."
As she said these words she went back to the alcove. And then a strange thing happened. For from behind the gaily-figured chintz, there issued a strange hoarse whisper, which caused so little astonishment to Madame Didier, that she merely echoed the words aloud. Apparently this was Périne's lesson.
"Seven six nine, and eight five four," repeated Madame Didier.
The answer from the girl came instantaneously:
"Sixteen hundred and twenty-three."
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."