“What is the matter, darling?” said he, approaching his face to mine; “have I offended you?”

I don’t know what strange idea darted through my mind, but I suddenly took my hand from the pot and stuck the big ball of lather at the end of my finger on the tip of his nose.  He broke out into a hearty laugh, and so did I; though I trembled for a moment, lest he should be angry.

“So that’s the way in which you behave to a captain in the lancers?  You shall pay for this, you wicked little darling;” and, taking the shaving brush in his hand, he chased me round the room.  I dodged round the table, I took refuge behind the armchair, upsetting his boots with my skirt, getting the tongs at the same time entangled in it.  Passing the sofa, I noticed his uniform laid out—­he had to wait on the General that morning—­and, seizing his schapska, I made use of it as a buckler.  But laughter paralyzed me, and besides, what could a poor little woman do against a soldier, even with a buckler?

He ended by catching me—­the struggle was a lovely one.  It was all very well for me to scream, as I threw my head backward over the arm by which he clasped me; I none the less saw the frightful brush, like a big snowball, at the end of a little stick, come nearer and yet nearer.

But he was merciful; he was satisfied with daubing a little white spot on my chin and exclaiming, “The cavalry have avenged themselves.”

Seizing the brush in turn, I said to him roguishly, “Captain, let me lather your face,” for I did so want to do that.

In answer, he held his face toward me, and, observing that I was obliged to stand on the tips of my toes and to support myself a little on his shoulder, he knelt down before me and yielded his head to me.

With the tip of my finger I made him bend his face to the right and the left, backward and forward, and I lathered and lathered, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It amused me so to see my Captain obey me like a child; I would have given I don’t know what if he had only had his sword and spurs on at that moment.  Unfortunately, he was in his slippers.  I spread the lather over his nose and forehead; he closed his eyes and put his two arms round me, saying: 

“Go on, my dear, go on; but see that you don’t put any into my mouth.”

At that moment I experienced a very strange feeling.  My laughter died away all at once; I felt ashamed at seeing my husband at my feet and at thus amusing myself with him as if he were a doll.

I dropped the shaving-brush; I felt my eyes grow moist; and, suddenly, becoming more tender, I bent toward him and kissed him on the neck, which was the only spot left clear.

Yet his ear was so near that, in passing it, my lips moved almost in spite of myself, and I whispered: 

“Don’t be angry, dear,” then, overcome by emotion and repentance, I added:  “I love you, I do love you.”

“My own pet!” he said, rising suddenly.  His voice shook.