The fourth planet belonged to a businessman. He was so busy that he did not even lift his head when the prince arrived.

Good morning, said the prince. Your cigarette has gone out.

Three and two make five. Five and seven, twelve. Twelve and three, fifteen. I have no time to light it again. Twenty-two and six, twenty-eight. Phew! That makes five-hundred-and-one-million, six-hundred-and-twenty-two-thousand, seven-hundred-and-thirty-one.

Five-hundred million what? asked the prince.

The businessman sighed. Millions of those little things, he said, that one sometimes sees in the sky.

Flies?

Oh, no. Little shining things.

Bees?

No, no. The little golden things that make lazy people daydream. As for me, I am a serious man. I have no time for daydreams.

Ah — stars?

Yes, that's it. Stars.

And what do you do with the stars? asked the prince.

I own them, said the businessman. I was the first person to think of it, so they are mine. I write the number of them on a piece of paper. Then I put the paper in a drawer and lock the drawer with a key. That is all.

But that is not of any use to the stars, said the prince.

On my planet, he said, I have a flower that I water every day. I have three volcanoes that I clean every week, even the one that is extinct — because you never know. It is of some use to my flower, and to my volcanoes, that I own them. But you are of no use at all to your stars.

The businessman opened his mouth. He could not think of anything to say. And the prince went on his way. Grown-ups, he said, are really quite extraordinary.

I own the stars, because nobody else before me ever thought of owning them.