As provost of Paris, it fell to his lot to arrest a man whose rise had been no less rapid than his own. His task was performed with a thorough good will. Montaigu, whom we have seen flying to Avignon after the downfall of Clisson, returned to the French capital when the storm was blown over. There he became more than ever a favourite of the king, who loaded him with honours, promoted his relations, and procured for his son the hand of the constable d’Albret’s sister. Among the offices which were lavished on Montaigu were those of finance minister and grand master of the royal household. His riches were soon increased to an enormous degree, and his pride to a still greater. To the duke of Burgundy he had rendered himself peculiarly obnoxious, by thwarting his plans, and being a determined adherent of the queen and the house of Orleans. The Burgundian affected to be reconciled to him, but he did not the less resolve upon his destruction. To accomplish the ruin of Montaigu, the duke instituted an enquiry into the conduct of those who had managed the finances; a species of enquiry which was always applauded by the tax-burthened people. At the same time, he likewise procured for the Parisians the restoration of various privileges, which had been taken from them, as a punishment for the Maillotin insurrection. Having thus fortified his popularity, he took advantage of the king being visited by one of his fits of madness, to commence operations against Montaigu. The favourite had been cautioned against his danger, and advised to fly from it, but confiding in the support of the queen and the duke of Berry, he was deaf to advice. He was arrested in the street by des Essarts, and committed to the Little Châtelet. It strongly marks his insufferable pride and insolence, that, when he was seized by the provost, he exclaimed “Ribald! how hast thou the audacity to touch me.” This was the arrogance of an upstart, for he was of humble birth. He was brought to trial, with little attention to the forms or the spirit of justice, and, after having been tortured, was condemned to lose his head; his property was confiscated, but, instead of being appropriated to replenish the treasury, it was divided among his enemies. The sentence was executed in the autumn of 1409. If ambition had not entirely banished prudence, the fate of Montaigu might have taught des Essarts to reflect on the frail tenure by which, in an age of faction, the most conspicuous partisans hold their fortunes and their lives. Nor was he without a still more impressive warning. In a moment of displeasure, the duke of Burgundy said to him, “Provost of Paris, John de Montaigu was three-and-twenty years in getting his head cut off, but verily you will not be three years about it:”—ominous words, where the prophet had the power of bringing his prophecy to pass!