Then he realized the great transformation which had just taken place in the bar.  Almost all the customers had filed silently out during his reading.  There remained only four blear-eyed drunkards who were guzzling with satisfaction, occupied with the contents of their glasses. Hindenburg, turning his mighty back upon his clientele, was reading an evening newspaper on the counter.  The Andalusian, seated in the background, was looking at the captain, smiling.  “There’s an old sport for you!...”  He was mentally chuckling over the fact that one of his countrymen had put to flight the brawling and brutal drinkers who gave him so much trouble on other evenings.

Ulysses consulted his watch:  half-past seven.  Already he had driven away all those people that Freya was so afraid of.  What was left to do here?...  He paid and went out.

Night had fallen.  Under the light of the electric lamp posts street cars and automobiles were passing toward the interior of the city.  Following the arcades of the old edifices near the harbor, groups of workers from the maritime establishments were filing by.  Barcelona, dazzling with splendor, was attracting the crowds.  The inner harbor, black and solitary, was filled with weak little lights twinkling from the heights of the masts.

Ferragut stood undecided whether to go home to eat, or to a restaurant in the Rambla.  Then he suspected that some of the fugitives from that dirty cafe were near, intending to follow him.  In vain he glanced searchingly around:  he could not recognize anybody in the groups that were reading the papers or conversing while waiting for the street car.

Suddenly he felt a desire to see Toni.  Uncle Caragol would improvise something to eat while the captain was telling his mate all about his adventure at the bar.  Besides, it seemed to him a fitting finale to his escapade to offer to any enemies that might be following him a favorable occasion for attacking him on the deserted wharf.  The demon of false pride was whispering in his ears:  “Thus they will see that you are not afraid of them.”

And he marched resolutely toward the harbor, passing over railroad tracks outlining the walls of long storehouses and winding in and out among mountains of merchandise.  At first he met little groups going toward the city, then pairs, then single individuals, finally nobody—­absolute solitude.

Further on, the darkness was cut by silhouettes of ebony that sometimes were boats and at others, alleyways of packages or hills of coal.  The black water reflected the red and green serpents from the lights on the boats.  A transatlantic liner was prolonging its loading operations by the light of its electric reflectors, standing forth out of the darkness with the gayety of a Venetian fiesta.

From time to time a man of slow step would come within the circle of the street lamp, the muzzle of his gun gleaming.  Others were lying in ambush among the mountains of cargo.  They were custom-house men and guardians of the port.