I felt deeply moved, and stirred.
It seemed to me that I was carrying a very fragile treasure.
It seemed to me, even, that there was nothing more fragile on all Earth.
In the moonlight I looked at his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled in the wind, and I said to myself:
"What I see here is nothing but a shell. What is most important is invisible . . ."
As his lips opened slightly with the suspicion of a half-smile, I said to myself, again:
"What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower--the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep . . ."
And I felt him to be more fragile still.
I felt the need of protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be extinguished by a little puff of wind . . .
And, as I walked on so, I found the well, at daybreak.