When Fénelon was in the province of Poitou, at work among the Huguenots in 1686, he first heard of Madame Guyon and became somewhat acquainted with her writings, which deeply interested him, as they were drawn so largely from Francis of Sales, his own chief teacher. On returning from his mission in 1687, he passed through the city of Montargis, and made there careful inquiries concerning this woman. He was impressed, says M. de Bausset, one of his biographers, “by the unanimous testimonies which he heard of her piety and goodness.” On returning to Paris he met her for the first time at the house of the Duchess of Charost, a few miles beyond Versailles, and again soon after at the house of the Duchess of Bethune. This was in the latter part of 1688, after her release from her first imprisonment. For her enemies, among whom was her half-brother, the Abbé la Mothe, had followed her to Paris, accused her to Monsieur de Harlai, the notoriously wicked archbishop, and he easily obtained from the king, to whom it was represented that her doctrines were substantially the same as those of the heretic Molinos, a _lettre de cachet_, or sealed order, putting her in confinement, January 29, 1688. She refused to purchase her liberty by the sacrifice of her little daughter, only twelve years of age, whom the king wished to force into a very unseemly marriage with a person who wished to get possession of her large property. She refused also to take other means for her release which did not commend themselves to her as right. She answered them, “I am content to suffer whatever it pleases God to order or permit, but I would sooner die upon the scaffold than utter the falsehoods you propose.” Whether written at this time or at some of her subsequent imprisonments, the following hymn of hers so well represents her constant attitude that it is eminently proper to insert it here: “A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air; And in my cage I sit and sing To Him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleases Thee. Nought have I else to do; I sing the whole day long; And He, whom most I love to please, Doth listen to my song; He caught and bound my wandering wing, But still He bends to hear me sing. Thou hast an ear to hear; A heart to love and bless; And, though my notes were e’er so rude, Thou would’st not hear the less; Because Thou knowest as they fall, That Love, sweet Love, inspires them all. My cage confines me round; Abroad I can not fly; But, though my wing is closely bound, My heart’s at liberty. My prison walls can not control The flight, the freedom of the soul. O, it is good to soar, These bolts and bars above, To Him whose purpose I adore, Whose providence I love; And in Thy mighty will to find The joy, the freedom of the mind.”