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Many years ago, on the eastern shore of a great harbor, there was a compound of lovely houses. The houses all had large windows that let in the sun and the air. They encircled a broad lawn of the greenest grass sheltered by ancient trees where birds sang each morning. In one of these houses lived a young girl with her family. She played all the time with her sisters on the grassy lawn. But this little girl had a secret: she liked to close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else.

She would pretend that the concrete driveway was a glittering boulevard filled with bustling cars. She would pretend that the big metal gate at the end of the driveway was a monumental arch covered with triumphant statues. And she would pretend that the tallest tree in the compound was actually a soaring metal tower touching the sky. For yes, the little girl – though she was still very young – already loved Paris.

She had seen pictures of Paris in a book her mother had given her and in her aunt’s fashion magazines. Most of all she had seen the great metropolis on the Seine in movies, in many wonderful movies filled with runaway princesses and couples standing on bridges. Every so often the young girl looked up at the stars from the window of her house and wished that she would, at long last, see Paris.

Finally, the day came when the little girl’s fondest wish was granted for stars do listen to one’s prayers. The little girl who had grown up into a cheerful and diligent lady found herself in the city of her dreams.