The second planet was inhabited by a conceited man.

The little prince clapped his hands. The conceited man raised his hat in a modest salute.

"This is more entertaining than the visit to the king," the little prince said to himself. And he began again to clap his hands, one against the other. The conceited man against raised his hat in salute.

"Yes?" said the little prince, who did not understand what the conceited man was talking about.

"It is a hat for salutes," the conceited man replied. "It is to raise in salute when people acclaim me. Unfortunately, nobody at all ever passes this way."

"Good morning," said the little prince. "That is a queer hat you are wearing."

For, to conceited men, all other men are admirers.

After five minutes of this exercise the little prince grew tired of the game's monotony.

"Clap your hands, one against the other," the conceited man now directed him.

"Ah! Ah! I am about to receive a visit from an admirer!" he exclaimed from afar, when he first saw the little prince coming.

But the conceited man did not hear him. Conceited people never hear anything but praise.

"Do you really admire me very much?" he demanded of the little prince.

"And what should one do to make the hat come down?" he asked.

"What does that mean -- 'admire'?"

"To admire mean that you regard me as the handsomest, the best-dressed, the richest, and the most intelligent man on this planet."

"Do me this kindness. Admire me just the same."

"The grown-ups are certainly very odd," he said to himself, as he continued on his journey.

"But you are the only man on your planet!"

"I admire you," said the little prince, shrugging his shoulders slightly, "but what is there in that to interest you so much?"

And the little prince went away.