The woman from Naples!" He did not really know whether she was from Naples; he had never seen her, but he was certain that she was coming as a fatal impediment, as an unexpected calamity....

Just when things were going so well, too!...
The captain whirled around in his arm chair, jumped up from the table, and in two bounds was out on deck.
Something extraordinary was perturbing the crew.

They, too, were all on deck as though some powerful attraction had drawn them from the orlop, from the depths of the hold, from the metallic corridors of the engine rooms.

Even Uncle Caragol was sticking his episcopal face out through the door of the kitchen, holding a hand closed in the form of a telescope to one of his eyes, without being able to distinguish clearly the announced marvel.
Freya was a few steps away in a blue suit somewhat like a sailor's, as though this visit to the ship necessitated the imitative elegance and bearing of the multi-millionaires who live on their yachts.

The seamen, cleaning brass or polishing wood, were pretending extraordinary occupations in order to get near her.