I don't know how to draw anything except boa constrictors from the outside and boa constrictors from the inside.
"Oh, that will be all right," he said, "children understand."
So then I made a pencil sketch of a muzzle. And as I gave it to him my heart was torn.
"You have plans that I do not know about," I said.
But he did not answer me. He said to me, instead: "You know– my descent to the earth...Tomorrow will be its anniversary."
Then, after a silence, he went on: "I came down very near here."
And he flushed.
And once again, without understanding why, I had a queer sense of sorrow.
One question, however, occurred to me:
Then it was not by chance that on the morning when I first met you， a week ago you were strolling along like that, all alone,
a thousand miles from any inhabited region?
You were on the your back to the place where you landed?
The little prince flushed again.
And I added, with some hesitancy: "Perhaps it was because of the anniversary?"
The little prince flushed once more.
He never answered questions– but when one flushes does that not mean "Yes"?
"Ah," I said to him, "I am a little frightened–"
But he interrupted me. "Now you must work. You must return to your engine."
I will be waiting for you here. Come back tomorrow evening...
But I was not reassured. I remembered the fox.
One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed...