At dawn, as the first ray of morning light illuminated the waves on the Seine River, Paris, resting in silence through the entire night, opened its sleepy eyes and leisurely stretched.
One by one, the windows along the streets were pushed open, and occasionally, the sounds of wives calling their lazy husbands and children to get up echoed from the rooms inside the buildings. Amidst the exchanges of men and women getting out of bed, the newly planted sycamore trees on both sides of the streets began sprouting tender green leaves, stretching their limbs in the sunlight, bringing a burst of spring's vitality to this brick-and-stone city.
A modest and simple carriage slowly made its way out of the eastern outskirts of Paris. Inside, besides a British gentleman, there were two native French friends, who were enthusiastically introducing the scenic views of Paris that were about to unfold before his eyes.
