CHAPTER VII.
Snow is a rare event at Mentone; but the night following there was a fall, succeeded by a frost, which kept the red roofs white throughout the next day, and laid over the brown earth in the garden a thin white coverlid, from which the violets, anemones, and here and there a rose, looked up under the drawn sword of an aloe. The gold-red fruit shone yet more brilliantly among the dark orange trees powdered with snow beneath a clear blue sky. The sun shone hotly, but the snow only melted in places. In the shade it was still hard, for the frost showed no sign of giving way, and the wind was icy cold. Invalids coughed and shivered. They murmured that it was not worth while to leave the comforts of home to be frozen up on the Riviera.
But poor Hatty had not left "the comforts of home;" and Hatty never murmured. Only her cough was decidedly worse; the sharp wind pierced through the crevices of doors and windows. Finally she gave in, and returned to bed. Her brother and Elizabeth were a great deal in her room, but she spoke very little. Her thin cheeks were aflame, her dry, hard cough was distressing to listen to; she could not rest, for her mind was as little
