There was awaiting him a happy and honorable old age; his former sailing companions were going to look upon him with envy.

He could get up late in the morning; he could go to the cafes; as a rich devotee he could figure in all the religious processions of the Grau and of the Cabanal; he could have a place of honor in the holy processions....
Heretofore, when Ferragut was talking, Uncle Caragol had always mechanically interrupted him, saying: "That is so, my captain." For the first time he was not nodding his head nor smiling with his sun-like face.

He was pale and gloomy.

He shook his round head energetically and said laconically: "No, my captain." Before the glance of astonishment which Ulysses flashed upon him, he found it necessary to explain himself.
"What am I ever going to do ashore ?...

Who is expecting me there ?...