He knew who it was.

His mates did not see the smile of irony, of sly ridicule, which stirred his lips as he bowed to the passer.

Immediately his rather handsome effeminate face resumed a stolid vacuity.
His name was not Alphonse; it was a captious offering by the crew, which, on this yacht, never went further than to tolerate the addition of a foreigner to their mess.

He had signed a day or two before sailing; he had even begged for the honor to ship with Captain Flanagan; and he gave his name as Pierre Picard, to which he had no more right than to Alphonse.

As Captain Flanagan was too good a sailor himself to draw distinctions, he was always glad to add a foreign tongue to his crew.