From time to time La Vireville struck a light, looked at the compass and reported, and François would take measures accordingly. On the other tack, however, the _Marie-François_ did not sail so well. After some couple of hours spent in these unprofitable manœuvres, during which they had only progressed a very few miles, La Vireville permitted himself to remark on this fact, and to say resignedly that he supposed they must make up their minds between being driven on to the rocks of Chausey or revisiting the Norman mainland. For himself he preferred Chausey. "I told you that she made much leeway," replied the owner of the _Marie-François_ rather sulkily. "If she were a bigger boat we might change our course and ride out under the Iles Chausey till morning, when the wind will probably abate, but she is too small for that. Or, if the tide were making, we could find our way inside to the natural harbour that there is by the Grande Ile (always supposing there were no vessels of the Blues doing the same). But the ebb has already begun, and if we got in there we could not get out again, for the channels would be dry." La Vireville, with Anne huddled up in his arms, reflected. He had sailed too often in just such a small craft between Brittany and Jersey not to know its limitations. "Then I am afraid we must give up the idea of making Jersey and run for the coast of Brittany," he said at last. "I know it very well between Cap Fréhel and St. Brieuc. In fact"--he hesitated a moment--"I have a command thereabouts. With this wind we could make that part of the coast easily--provided that we are not sighted in the morning by the Blues, either at sea or ashore." "Very well," agreed the Norman. "Our best plan will be to go between Chausey and the Minquiers. It is dangerous." "It is better than returning," insisted Fortuné. "I suppose you know the channels well? And we should get some shelter from the lee of the islands of Chausey." So they went about, and presently the little boat was engaged, in the darkness and the high wind, among that archipelago of dreary and dangerous reefs, of which some rose like needles out of the sea, and some, more deadly still, were only visible at low water. Of such were the most perilous of all, Les Ardentes, which lay in wait at the entry of the passage. And the moon would put aside the flying clouds for a moment, to show them the surf boiling white round some evil splinter of rock standing up in the channel like a warning finger, or the water sucking greedily over an unseen slab of granite. Only François' consummate steering, his steady nerves, and, perhaps, the luck which sometimes attends those who challenge risks, got them safely through. La Vireville kept Anne's eyes covered the whole time.