“Kidnapers don’t usually allow their victims time to pack their suitcases,” she said. “And if you don’t mind, Miss Stone, will you call me by my right name? It’s Mary Louise Gay.”
The young woman nodded solemnly.
“Certainly, Mary Louise,” she replied.
Mary Louise looked at the nurse hopefully, wondering whether she was really finding a friend. Did the nurse believe her?
All the doors along the corridor were closed, but Mary Louise had no way of telling whether they were locked or not until, down near the end, she suddenly heard a loud pounding. Miss Stone stopped and, taking a key from her chain, unlocked the door. A mild-faced woman of about thirty-five came out.
“I just wanted to see who was coming,” she said. “Ah! A pretty girl.”
Miss Stone paused and introduced them courteously. The patient was dressed in the blue calico of the institution, but there was nothing queer or odd about her looks. She appeared to be much more normal than Rebecca Adams.
“This is Mary Louise Gay,” said Miss Stone. “She has come to live with us. And this, Mary Louise, is Joan of Arc. The girl who saved France, you remember?”
“Oh!” gasped Mary Louise, in amazement. Was Miss Stone joking, or did the patient really believe she was Joan of Arc?
The woman in calico smiled proudly.