But a thought came to reassure him:

It is true that they have more poison for a second bite."

That night I did not see him set out on his way. He got away from me without making a sound. When I succeeded in catching up with him he was walking along with a quick and resolute step. He said to me merely:

Ah! You are there . . .

And he took me by the hand. But he was still worrying.

It was wrong of you to come. You will suffer. I shall look as if I were dead; and that will not be true . . .

I said nothing.

You understand . . . it is too far. I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy.

I said nothing.

But it will be like an old abandoned shell. There is nothing sad about old shells . . .

I said nothing.

He was a little discouraged. But he made one more effort:

You know, it will be very nice. I, too, shall look at the stars. All the stars will be wells with a rusty pulley. All the stars will pour out fresh water for me to drink . . .

I said nothing. That will be so amusing! You will have five hundred million little bells, and I shall have five hundred million springs of fresh water . . .

And he too said nothing more, because he was crying . . .

Here it is. Let me go on by myself.

And he sat down, because he was afraid. Then he said, again:

You know--my flower . . . I am responsible for her. And she is so weak! She is so naïve! She has four thorns, of no use at all, to protect herself against all the world . . .

I too sat down, because I was not able to stand up any longer.

There now - that is all . . .

He still hesitated a little; then he got up. He took one step. I could not move.

There was nothing but a flash of yellow close to his ankle. He remained motionless for an instant. He did not cry out. He fell as gently as a tree falls. There was not even any sound, because of the sand.

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