CHAPTER X.
"Ay!" says Touchstone; "now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home I was in a better place." Now am I in Algiers; the more fool I; et cetera, et cetera.
It is true that from my bedroom window in the Albany I cannot see the moon silvering the Mediterranean, or hear the soft swish of pepper-trees; it is true that oranges and eucalyptus do not flourish in the Albany Court-yard as they do in this hotel garden at Mustapha Superieur; it is true that the blue African sky and sunshine are more agreeable than Piccadilly fogs; but, after all, his own kennel is best for a dying dog, and his own familiar surroundings best for his declining hours.

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.