The tower might have saved my own romance with France. When I was struggling to adjust to the winters of Paris and the challenges of a new life with someone in another country, my now-husband said, “Let me show you how I fell in love with Paris.” And he took me inline skating, again and again, through the midnight streets of Paris — from the Hôtel de Ville, past the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, beside all those illuminated bridges that bracelet the Seine, to end up at the Trocadéro, from whose esplanade we and those other rare couples out so late would watch the Tower go black at 1 a.m., when its now-famous sparkles dance one last time over its darkened form before it, too, finally goes to sleep.