BARY FIG-TREES.--THE CACTUS-PLANTS.--THE
VIZNAGA.--OUR HOPES DISAPPOINTED.--DON BENITO COYOTEPEC.

The sun had not risen when we were up and ready to start. We shivered
with cold, for on the great plateau which we had now reached, to which
the inhabitants of the lower regions give the name of _Terre-Froide_,
the mornings are frosty. The profound darkness was succeeded by a dim
twilight, afterwards by a fog, which penetrated our clothing as much as
rain.

"There has been no shower," cried Lucien, "and yet we are all wet."

"It is the dew, Chanito; it is almost as abundant as the night dews in
the _Terre-Chaude_."

"Are not morning and night dews the same thing?"

"Not exactly," I replied; "the morning dew is generally of a beneficial
nature; but the Mexicans dread the other, which falls after sunset, and
is said to be productive of fever."

"But from whence does all this moisture come?"

"From the air, which always contains a certain quantity, some of which
it deposits on the ground, on stones and plants, as they become cool by
radiation."

Just at this moment our attention was attracted by the first ray of the
sun, which, piercing through a light cloud, shot across the plain like a
bright arrow. The horizon, which had been visible, was now obscured by a
mist, which gradually rolled towards us. By degrees, however, it drew
off, and the trees a short distance away showed their rounded tops;
while wide breaks opened here and there in the semi-transparent veil,
and vanished as quickly as they had arisen.

The telescope was passed from hand to hand, and each tried to discover
if there was a hut where the glimmering fire had been descried the night
before. The search was in vain; the reflection of the sun's rays quite
dazzled us, and restricted the prospect; but, once in the right course,
we might advance without fear of missing our point, and, according to
our calculations, we would meet with habitations the next day or the
following.

Gringalet's tongue hung out of his mouth; he found the journey over the
nitrous soil very irksome, and the scanty leaves of the mimosa failed to
screen him from the sun. What a contrast it was to the pleasant regions
we had hitherto travelled through!

"Your country, after all, is not so nice a one as mine," said Lucien,
addressing l'Encuerado.

"My real native country is much more beautiful than that we are now in,
Chanito; in the first place, it has mountains and woods, and