"Shall we see any snow fall, now that we are in the Terre-Froide?"
"No," replied Sumichrast, smiling; "you will not see any snow before next year, when you will be in France. The winters of the Mexican Terre-Froide are like our European springs. It is, however, never warm enough to allow tropical fruit to ripen; but the Terre-Froide only deserves its name when it is compared with the Terre-Chaude and the Terre-Tempérée."
"It seems to me to have been very badly named, for it is as hot now as the day when the south wind blew so strongly. Gringalet looks as if he was of my opinion, for he lolls his tongue out much more than usual."
"Upon my word!" cried Sumichrast, "Master Sunbeam's remark shows that he is a first-class observer. You are as right as you can be," continued he, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "In the plains of the Terre-Froide the heat is much more uncomfortable than in the Terre-Chaude itself, where an insensible perspiration always mitigates the oppressive rays of the sun. A few days' walking in this atmosphere will do more in bronzing our skins than all the rest of the journey."
My companion suddenly stopped short, and pointed to the horizon with his finger.
"That's smoke," cried Lucien.
"No, Chanito," replied l'Encuerado, "it is a tornado."
Seeing a slender column of dust rising up to the clouds, I had, at first sight, formed the same idea as my son. It was, in fact, nothing but a whirlwind of dust, which disappeared soon afterwards.
"There is no wind," observed Lucien; "how is it that the dust rises so high?"
