Or what business with my family would have any interest for me ?..." Ferragut seemed to be hearing an echo of his own thoughts.

He, like the cook, would have nothing to do on land....

He was mortally bored when far from the sea, just as in those months when, still young, he had believed that he could create for himself a new profession in Barcelona.

Besides, it was impossible to return to his home, taking up life again with his wife; it would be simply losing his last illusions.
It would be better to view from afar all that remained of his former existence.
Caragol, meanwhile, was going on talking.

His nephews would not remember the poor old cook and he had no reason to trouble himself about their fate, making them rich.