He made himself very much at home, walking around, admiring the bookcase and the painting on the wall by artist Duy. He then stopped by the window, drew aside the blue curtains and exclaimed with pleasure:
- Look at that pretty garden!
I said I liked it too, for the simple reason I could see it from my window, as if it were all mine. He liked the mock-orange flowers with their tiny leaves, the young plum tree laden with fruit, the rose bed in full bloom, the morning-glory trellis with purple flowers, his favorite color. Then he came to a sudden conclusion:
- Actually, the garden has no value in itself. It is beautiful because it’s right beside the house of a beautiful lady.