ChapterXXVII
Andnowsixyearshavealreadygoneby...
Ihavetoldthisstory.Thepanionswhometmeournwerewelltenttoseemealive.Iwassad,butItoldthem:"Iamtired."
Nowmysorrowisfortedalittle.Thatistosay——irely.ButIknowthathedidgobacktohispla.BecauseIdidnotfindhisbodyatdaybreak.Itwasnotsuchaheavybody...andatnightIlovetolistentothestars.Itislikefivehundredmillionlittlebells...
Butthereisoraordinarything...whehemuzzleforthelittleprince,Ifottoaddtheleatherstraptoit.Hewillneverhavebeeofastenitonhissheep.SonowIkeepw:whatishappeningonhispla?Perhapsthesheephaseatentheflower...
AtoimeIsaytomyself:"Surelynot!Thelittleprishisflowerunderherglassglobeeverynight,achesoverhissheepverycarefully..."ThenIamhappy.Andthereissweetnessinthelaughterofallthestars.
ButataimeIsaytomyself:"Atsomemomentorotheroneisabsent-minded,andthatisenough!Onsomeoneeveninghefottheglassglobe,orthesheepgotout,withoutmakinganyhenight..."Ahelittlebellsaregedtotears...
Here,then,isagreatmystery.
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