In February 2008, Jim and I went to Paris and rented a tiny but adorable apartment on Boulevard de Sébastopol under the eaves of a mansard roof. We had three large skylights with great views of the city. There was an apartment across the street that looked like a wonderful place to live and we spent many evenings as peeping toms watching their dinner parties. The apartment looked like the movie sets in those 1950s musicals that take place in Paris — like Gigi or Funny Face. We expected the residents to break out in song and dance at any moment.