"Welcome to Paris!"

Finally, Keane stepped out of the car and stood before the old man. As Keane placed his hand on the old man's stooped shoulder, I saw a glisten of tears in my husband's eyes.

It was 1945, during the Second World War, when the conflict in Europe finally came to an end. Thousands of American soldiers were transferred from various battlefields to Paris, where they assembled and awaited orders, preparing to embark once again, this time for the Pacific theater.

After witnessing, hearing, and personally experiencing various horrifying events and brutal scenes, every soldier bore deep scars within. At this moment, only peace, quiet, and kindness could heal the souls of these young men, giving them the courage to embark on their journey once more.

My husband, Keane, was one of them. At the time, he resided in the Napoleon Hotel in central Paris. The Napoleon Hotel was modest but clean, with an elevator that was a cage pulled by pulleys along iron cables. However, the most striking feature of this hotel was the doorman, Mr. Jean Foratoni. Mr. Foratoni stood at the hotel's entrance, opening doors for guests, greeting each one with his deep baritone voice: "Welcome to Paris!"

Mr. Foratoni was especially friendly to the American soldiers staying at the hotel, treating each one as his own son. He remembered every person's name, inquired about their well-being, and warmly embraced them. He loved these soldiers from the bottom of his heart, expressing gratitude because they had liberated his homeland.

But as the war progressed, these soldiers stationed in Europe never got deployed, and the war in the Pacific ended. Therefore, my husband and this group of soldiers returned directly to the United States. As they departed from the hotel, Mr. Foratoni bid them farewell with reluctance, and many soldiers shed tears of parting.

Forty years later, at the age of sixty, my husband signed up to participate in the Paris Marathon. So, we set off for Paris. Since the end of the war, Keane had never returned to Europe. This time, returning to the place of his past, he decided to walk along the path of the battles they had fought. Keane told me how they marched, with German soldiers firing at them from the roadside and the mountains, and many American soldiers falling on this soil. Along the way, we paid homage to the graves of Keane's comrades, laying flowers for these young American men who slept in a foreign land.

Finally, we arrived in Paris and registered for the marathon at a designated hotel. Initially, we planned to stay at this hotel since almost all the participating athletes were staying there. However, Keane quickly changed his mind; he wanted to stay at the old Napoleon Hotel!

As we drove there, Keane realized that it had changed drastically. The current Napoleon Hotel was nothing like the one he remembered. The old Napoleon Hotel was simple, without much decoration. But now, the Napoleon Hotel had become one of the most luxurious hotels in Paris.

"Oh my, this is completely different. Staying at such a high-end hotel must be very expensive," Keane muttered softly, looking at the luxurious hotel. I understood his feelings and comforted him, saying, "This hotel does look beautiful indeed, but it's okay. Let's stay here and reminisce about the past."

We parked the car next to the hotel and sat inside, carefully admiring the place. Suddenly, Keane gasped and straightened up. An elderly gentleman bent down to open the car door, and then, a weathered baritone voice drifted into the car, "Welcome to Paris!" Keane sat there motionless, staring blankly at the old man's weathered face. At that moment, I felt the air around us seemed to freeze. Finally, Keane stepped out of the car and stood before the old man. As Keane placed his hand on the old man's stooped shoulder, I saw glistening tears in my husband's eyes.

After a moment of composure, Keane swallowed and said, "You worked here forty years ago, didn't you?"

The old man nodded, standing there without moving. Keane continued, "I was here too at that time, one of the American soldiers staying at the Napoleon Hotel. My name is Brody."

The old man scrutinized Keane carefully, then extended his trembling hands and embraced my husband, murmuring incessantly, "Brody, Brody, I remember, of course I remember, my good friend!"

The hotel price was indeed expensive, but they arranged a room for us that we could afford, and it even had a bathroom. When we handed our credit card to the front desk, Mr. Foratoni left us and had a brief conversation with someone who looked like a manager.

When we were escorted to our room, we found out it wasn't the "cheapest room" in the hotel, but a very elegant and beautiful suite filled with expensive carpets and various antique furniture.

We told Mr. Foratoni that this wasn't the room we booked; there must have been a mistake. However, the old man shook his head firmly, saying, "No mistake, this is the best room in the hotel, but it suits you because in my eyes, you are still the young soldier who liberated France all those years ago!"