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And I understood what he had been looking for.
I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed. It was as sweet as some special festival treat. This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart, like a present.
"The men where you live," said the little prince, raise five thousand roses in the same garden— and they do not find in it what they are looking for.
"They do not find it," I replied.
"And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water.
"Yes, that is true," I said.
And the little prince added:
"But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart...
I had drunk the water. I breathed easily. At sunrise the sand is the color of honey. And that honey color was making me happy, too. What brought me, then, this sense of grief?
"You must keep your promise," said the little prince, softly, as he sat down beside me once more.
"What promise?"
"You know— a muzzle for my sheep... I am responsible for this flower...
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