He was continuing his existence as though he were living in a paradisiacal felicity.

Sometimes, while waiting for Freya, his memory would gloat over her wonderful physical charm, the refinements and fresh sensations which his passion was enjoying; at other times, the actual embrace with its ecstasy blotted out and suppressed all unpleasant possibilities.
Something, nevertheless, suddenly jerked him from his amorous egoism, something that was overshadowing his visage, furrowing his forehead with wrinkles of preoccupation, and making him go aboard his vessel.
When seated in the large cabin of his ship opposite his mate, he leaned his elbows on the table and commenced to chew on a great cigar that had just gone out.
"We're going to start very soon," he repeated with visible abstraction.
"You will be glad, Toni; I believe that you will be delighted." Toni remained impassive.

He was waiting for something more.

The captain in starting on a voyage had always told him the port of destiny and the special nature of the cargo.

Therefore, noting that Ferragut did not want to add anything more, he ventured to ask: "Is it to Barcelona that we are going ?" Ulysses hesitated, looking toward the door, as though fearing to be overheard.