All was well, but unfortunately the old chronic malady—the passion to fight Genoa—broke out again as chronic maladies are apt to do. This time the veteran seaman was not so fortunate and indeed fortune would seem to have deserted him. The Duke of Genoa fell upon Monaco; surrounded it; blockaded it and compelled the tough old fighter, who had never owned defeat, to haul down his flag and surrender. There was never a more pathetic moment in the history of Monaco than when the gallant seaman walked down the path from his palace to the sea a beaten man and, most bitter of all, beaten by Genoa. This was in 1356. Carlo Grimaldi retired upon Mentone to collect forces with which to fight the Genoese once more and so gain possession of his beloved rock. For him the time never came. The ranks of armed men that he dreamed about night and day were never mustered and in 1363 the great and heroic seaman died. XXII THE LUCIEN MURDER IN 1457 a little girl, aged twelve, became, on the death of her father, the ruling princess of Monaco. Her name was Claudine. The position of this little maid was embarrassing and indeed pitiable. She would like to have romped in the play-room or have spent the days in the garden with her pets and her girl friends. Instead of that she had to sit for hours on a throne with her hair done up in an unwonted and uncomfortable manner, with robes about her which were much too large and with her feet dangling a long way off the floor. Here she had to receive the obeisance of venerable court officials and of burly fighting men who bowed gravely as they approached and then knelt before those ridiculous small feet of hers of which she was so conscious. It was very amusing to play the queen in the garden with her friends and with a tree trunk for a throne and a wisp of paper for a crown; but this solemn ceremony, carried on without a smile, was merely a thing of dread. She had always been “Claudine” or “Claudinetta” to her companions when they played with her, chased her about and pinched her; but now they bent their heads when she stepped on the lawn and called her “Madam” and “Your Highness.” She had to learn that her youth had vanished at the age of twelve and one can imagine her, when a function was over, throwing off her robes and rushing to the arms of her old nurse to cry until her tears were spent.