When Chavigny left the King, Cinq-Mars entered the royal chamber. Louis was silent, absorbed, and melancholy—would answer no questions, and abruptly dismissed the favourite on the plea that he was fatigued and needed rest. Monsieur le Grand was naturally surprised at the change. The significant words of Fontrailles recurred to him; too late he repented his careless indifference to the friendly warning. But after all, if the King failed him, there was Monsieur and there was the treaty. What had he, Cinq-Mars, to fear when the King's brother had so deeply compromised himself? The Cardinal, too, was ill—very ill; he might die. Still, as he turned to his own suite of apartments his mind misgave him. The King had not told him one word of his interview with Chavigny; and although Chavigny would have denied it upon oath on the consecrated wafer, Cinq-Mars knew he was the Cardinal's creature and his go-between with the King. When Cinq-Mars reached his rooms he found a letter from his friend, De Thou. "Fly," said this letter—"fly instantly. I have certain intelligence that the Cardinal is acquainted with every particular of the treaty signed at Madrid. For myself I have nothing to fear; but you have incurred the deadly hatred of Richelieu." Thereupon Cinq-Mars, hurriedly disguised himself in a Spanish cloak, with a sombrero hat slouched over his face, stole out of the prefecture where the King was staying, and made his way as fast as he could run to the city gates. They were closed. Then, fully aroused to the urgency of his position, the strange words of Fontrailles ringing in his ears, he sought out the abode of an humble friend, whom he had recommended to serve the Court with mules for the journeying to the south from Paris—a man of Touraine, whom he had known from his boyhood. He roused him from sleep—for the night had now closed in—and acquainted him with his danger. The faithful muleteer did his best. He hid him under some loose hay with the mules in the stable. It was in vain. Cinq-Mars had been seen and tracked from the prefecture to the muleteer's house, and the scented exquisite—whose word a few hours before ruled the destiny of France—was dragged out headlong from the hay, his fine clothes torn and soiled, his face scratched and bleeding, amid the hooting of the populace and the jeers of his enemies. De Thou, his friend, was arrested on the same day, not as guilty of conspiring, but simply as being cognisant of the existence of the treaty of Madrid, which Fontrailles had carefully carried off into the Netherlands stitched in his clothes, a copy of which lay with the Cardinal. Monsieur Duc d'Orléans was also, for the fourth time, arrested and imprisoned.