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Again, Touchstone had not the faintest idea what he was
going to do in the Forest of Arden, and I was equally ignorant of what
would befall when I landed at Algiers. He was bound on a fool adventure,
and so was I. He preferred the easy way of home, and so do I. I have
always loved Touchstone, but I have never thoroughly understood him till
now.
It rained persistently in Paris. It rained as I drove from the Gare du
Nord to my hotel. It rained all night. It rained all the day I spent
there and it rained as I drove from my hotel to the Gare de Lyon.
A cheery newspaper informed me that there were torrential rains at
Marseilles. I mentioned this to Rogers, who tried to console me by
reminding me that we were only staying at Marseilles for a few hours.
"That has nothing to do with it," said I. "At Marseilles I always eat
bouillabaisse on the quay. Fancy eating bouillabaisse in the pouring
rain!"
As usual, Rogers could not execute the imaginative exercise I
prescribed; so he strapped my hold-all with an extra jerk.


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