"Valencia, my son! Always Valencia!" And after repeating this recommendation many times, he announced that he had made his god-son his heir.
The books, the statues, all the glorious souvenirs of the poet-laureate, came to Barcelona to adorn the sailor's home.

The little Telemachus amused himself pulling apart the old wreaths of the troubador, and tearing out the old prints from his volumes with the inconsequence of a lively child whose father is very far away and who knows that he is idolized by two indulgent ladies.

Besides his trophies, the poet left Ulysses an old house in Valencia, some real estate and a certain amount in negotiable securities,--total, thirty thousand dollars.
The other guardian of his infancy, the vigorous _Triton_, seemed to be unaffected by the passing of the years.

Upon his return to Barcelona, Ferragut frequently found him installed in his home, in mute hostility to Dona Cristina, devoting to Cinta and her son a part of the affection that he had formerly lavished upon Ulysses alone.
He was very desirous that the little Esteban should know the home of his great grandparents.
"You will let me have him ?...

You know well enough," he coaxed, "that down in the _Marina_ men become as strong as though made of bronze.
Surely you will let me have him ?..." But he quailed before the indignant gesture of the suave Dona Cristina.
Entrust her grandson to the _Triton_, and let him awaken in him the love of maritime adventure, as he had done with Ulysses ?...