Thus was Mrs. Louise Schanz consigned to the asylum without a chance of making herself understood. Can such carelessness be excused, I wonder, when it is so easy to get an interpreter? If the confinement was but for a few days one might question the necessity. But here was a woman taken without her own consent from a free world to an asylum and there given no chance to prove her sanity. Confined most probably for life behind asylum bars, without even being told in her language the why and wherefore. Compare this with a criminal, who is given every chance to prove his innocence. Who would not rather be a murderer and take the chance for life than be declared insane, without hope of escape? Mrs. Schanz begged in German to know where she was, and pleaded for liberty. Her voice broken by sobs, she was led unheard out to us. [Illustration: THE FRONT HALLWAY.] Mrs. Fox was then put through this weak, trifling examination and brought from the office, convicted. Miss Annie Neville took her turn, and I was again left to the last. I had by this time determined to act as I do when free, except that I would refuse to tell who I was or where my home was. CHAPTER IX. AN EXPERT(?) AT WORK. “Nellie Brown, the doctor wants you,” said Miss Grupe. I went in and was told to sit down opposite Dr. Kinier at the desk. “What is your name?” he asked, without looking up. “Nellie Brown,” I replied, easily. “Where is your home?” writing what I had said down in a large book. “In Cuba.” “Oh!” he ejaculated, with sudden understanding—then, addressing the nurse: “Did you see anything in the papers about her?” “Yes,” she replied, “I saw a long account of this girl in the _Sun_ on Sunday.” Then the doctor said: “Keep her here until I go to the office and see the notice again.” He left us, and I was relieved of my hat and shawl. On his return, he said he had been unable to find the paper, but he related the story of my _debut_, as he had read it, to the nurse. “What’s the color of her eyes?” Miss Grupe looked, and answered “gray,” although everybody had always said my eyes were brown or hazel. “What’s your age?” he asked; and as I answered, “Nineteen last May,” he turned to the nurse, and said, “When do you get your next pass?” This I ascertained was a leave of absence, or “a day off.” “Next Saturday,” she said, with a laugh. “You will go to town?” and they both laughed as she answered in the affirmative, and he said: “Measure her.” I was stood under a measure, and it was brought down tightly on my head. “What is it?” asked the doctor. “Now you know I can’t tell,” she said. “Yes, you can; go ahead. What height?” “I don’t know; there are some figures there, but I can’t tell.” “Yes, you can. Now look and tell me.” “I can’t; do it yourself,” and they laughed again as the doctor left his place at the desk and came forward to see for himself.