In the afternoon of a spring day, the sun hung high overhead, the slightly sultry weather always made people drowsy, the gentle hum of the carriage and the shimmering reflections along the banks of the Seine River intertwined to form the unique afternoon melody of Paris.
At the edge of Fry Square in Paris, there was a small hotel that could be seen everywhere, although its facade was unassuming, it exuded a warm and antique aura, the stone exterior walls were covered with ivy, the wooden sign gently swayed in the breeze, on which the name of the hotel was elegantly handwritten - "Le Petit Château", meaning "Little Castle."
