His wrath made him fall into his armchair, swinging his back toward the mate, hiding his head in his hands, in order to make him understand that with this scornful silence everything between them had come to an end.

Toni’s eyes, growing constantly more distended and glassy, finally released a tear....  To separate thus, after a fraternal life in which the months were like years!...

He advanced timidly in order to take possession of one of Ferragut’s soft, inert, inexpressive hands.  Its cold contact made him hesitate.  He felt inclined to yield....  But immediately he blotted out this weakness with a firm, crisp tone: 

“Good-by, Ulysses!...”

The captain did not answer, letting him go away without the slightest word of farewell.  The mate was already near the door when he stopped to say to him with a sad and affectionate expression: 

“Do not fear that I shall say anything about this to anybody....  Everything remains between us two.  I will make up some excuse in order that those aboard will not be surprised at my going.”

He hesitated as though he were afraid to appear importunate, but he added: 

“I advise you not to undertake that trip.  I know how our men feel about these matters; you can’t rely upon them.  Even Uncle Caragol, who only concerns himself with his galley, will criticize you....  Perhaps they will obey you because you are the captain, but when they go ashore, you will not be the master of their silence....  Believe me; do not attempt it.  You are going to disgrace yourself.  You well know for what cause....  Good-by, Ulysses!”

When the captain raised his head the pilot had already disappeared and solitude, with its deadly burden, soon weighed upon his thoughts.  He felt afraid to carry out his plans without Toni’s aid.  It appeared to him that the chain of authority which united him to his men had been broken.  The mate was carrying away a part of the prestige that Ferragut exercised over the crew.  How could he explain his disappearance on the eve of an illegal voyage which exacted such great secrecy?  How could he rely upon the silence of everybody?...  He remained pensive a long time, then suddenly leaping up from his armchair, he went out on deck, shouting to the seamen: 

“Where is Don Antonio?  Go find him.  Call him for me.”

“Don Antoni!...  Don Antoni!...” replied a string of voices from poop to prow, while Uncle Caragol’s head poked itself out of the door of his dominions.

“Don Antoni” appeared through the hatchway.  He had been going all over the boat, after taking leave of his captain.  Ferragut received him with averted face, avoiding his glance, and with a complex and contradictory gesture.  He felt angry at being vanquished and the shame of weakness yet, allied to these sensations, was the instinctive gratitude which one experiences upon being freed from an unwise step by a violent hand which mistreats and saves.