‘I went home,’ she continued after a short pause, ‘to get her clothes. I left Fritzi with the caretaker, a kindly soul whose husband died about a year ago. So I took her clothes over to the police station. She was sitting there on a bench, the poor baby, staring silently in front of her as if none of it had anything to do with her. I dressed her and she let me do it; she was completely apathetic. And when I was finished, all she said was: “We’re going home now, Mummy. Victor” — that’s her husband’s name — “will be cross with me for taking so long. He’s hungry.” But she didn’t move. And she didn’t mention Fritzi. “Of course we’re going home,” I said, “where else should we go?” But they wouldn’t let her go home. “The district doctor has to examine her first,” they said. And so they took her to his office. And after he examined her the doctor said: “My dear lady, I have to inform you, to my regret, that your daughter’s nervous condition is very bad. She requires medical supervision. We’ll send her to the General Hospital. For a few days, a fortnight at the most. She’ll be under the care of Professor Wagner-Jauregg — don’t be alarmed, dear lady, it’s only the ward for nervous disorders.” You can imagine how terrified I was. My heart stood still. You must have heard rumours about Wagner-Jauregg yourself, how he doesn’t care a fig for human life! At first I couldn’t say a thing. I suppose I must have gone pale too, because the doctor made me sit down and told someone to fetch me a glass of water. But Franzi didn’t turn a hair, as if it had nothing to do with her. I began pleading, arguing — all in vain. “It’s a clear case of depression,” the doctor said, “melancholia with anxiety neurosis and suicidal tendencies. She requires professional supervision. What will you do if she jumps out of the window one night? In addition to everything else, you live on the third floor! Can you undertake to hire two nurses to keep an eye on her twenty-four hours a day? Well then!” And he phoned the hospital, and half an hour later the ambulance came and took her to the Wagner-Jauregg ward. I went with her, of course. She was silent all the way. But afterwards, when we were there and I wanted to say goodbye, she suddenly burst out crying: “Mummy, where am I?” “You’re in the hospital, my child, you’re ill,” I replied, feeling as if I was going to faint. “I don’t want to, Mummy, I don’t want to! I’m not sick! I want to go home!” she screamed, and threw herself about. I fainted, and when I recovered she was gone.’