At ten o'clock the _Agnes and Mary_ warped out of harbour and dropped lazily down the Rance, setting sail as she went. Christian had spent most of the morning in the little cabin smoking Captain Lebrun's reserve pipe, and seeking to establish order among the accounts of the ship. The accounts were the _bête noire_ of the old sailor's existence. Upon his own confession he “wasn't no arithmetician,” and Christian found, upon inspecting his accounts, no cause to contradict this ambiguous statement. When the _Agnes and Mary_ was clear of the harbour he went on deck, where activity and maritime language reigned supreme. The channel was narrow and the wind light, consequently the little brig drifted more or less at her own sweet will. This would have been well enough had the waterway been clear of other vessels, but the Jersey steamer was coming in, with her yellow funnel gleaming in the sunlight, her mail-flag fluttering at her foremast, and her captain swearing on the bridge, with the whistle-pull in his hand. Seeing that the _Agnes and Mary_ had no steerage way, the captain stopped his engines for a few minutes, and then went ahead again at half-speed. This brought the vessels close together, and, as is the invariable custom in such circumstances, the two crews stared stonily at each other. On the deck were one or two passengers enjoying the morning air after a cramped and uncomfortable night. Among these was an old man with a singularly benign expression; he was standing near the after-wheel, gazing with senile placidity towards St. Mâlo. As the vessels neared each other, however, he walked towards the rail, and stood there with a pleasant smile upon his face, as if ready to exchange a greeting with any kindred soul upon the _Agnes and Mary_. Christian Vellacott, seated upon the rail of the after-deck, saw the old man and watched him with some interest--not, however, altering his position or changing countenance. The vessels moved slowly on, and, in due course, the two men were opposite to each other, each at the extreme stern of his ship. Then the young journalist removed Captain Lebrun's spare pipe from his lips, and leaning sideways over the water, called out: “Good morning, Signor Bruno!” The effect of this friendly greeting upon the benevolent old gentleman was peculiar. He grasped the rail before him with both hands, and stared at the young Englishman. Then he stamped upon the deck with a sudden access of fury. “Ah!” he exclaimed fiercely, while a tiger-like gleam shone out from beneath his smooth white brows. “Ah! it is you!” Christian swung his legs idly, and smiled with some amusement across the little strip of water.