But the measure of his degradation was not yet full. After making a tour of the house, and thinking, for the first time, that the poor-laws really were too hard upon people, and that men who ran away from their wives, leaving them chargeable to the parish, ought, in justice, to be visited with no punishment at all, but rather rewarded as meritorious individuals who had suffered much, Mr. Bumble came to a room where some of the female paupers were usually employed in washing the parish linen, and whence the sound of voices in conversation now proceeded. “Hem!” said Mr. Bumble, summoning up all his native dignity “These women at least shall continue to respect the prorogative. Hallo! hallo there!—what do you mean by this noise, you hussies?” With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door, and walked in with a very fierce and angry manner, which was at once exchanged for a most humiliated and cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on the form of his lady wife. “My dear,” said Mr. Bumble, “I didn’t know you were here.” “Didn’t know I was here!” repeated Mrs. Bumble. “What do _you_ do here?” “I thought they were talking rather too much to be doing their work properly, my dear,” replied Mr. Bumble, glancing distractedly at a couple of old women at the washtub, who were comparing notes of admiration at the workhouse-master’s humility. [Illustration: _Mr. Bumble degraded in the eyes of the Paupers._] “You thought they were talking too much?” said Mrs. Bumble. “What business is it of yours?” “Why, my dear—” urged Mr. Bumble, submissively. “What business is it of yours?” demanded Mrs. Bumble, again. “It’s very true, you’re matron here, my dear,” submitted Mr. Bumble; “but I thought you mightn’t be in the way just then.” “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Bumble,” returned his lady, “we don’t want any of your interference, and you’re a great deal too fond of poking your nose into things that don’t concern you, making everybody in the house laugh the moment your back is turned, and making yourself look like a fool every hour in the day. Be off; come!” Mr. Bumble, seeing with excruciating feelings the delight of the two old paupers who were tittering together most rapturously, hesitated for an instant. Mrs. Bumble, whose patience brooked no delay, caught up a bowl of soap-suds, and motioning him towards the door, ordered him instantly to depart, on pain of receiving the contents upon his portly person. What could Mr. Bumble do? He looked dejectedly round, and slunk away; and, as he reached the door, the titterings of the paupers broke into a shrill chuckle of irrepressible delight It wanted but this. He was degraded in their eyes; he had lost caste and station before the very paupers; he had fallen from all the height and pomp of beadleship to the lowest depth of the most snubbed hen-peckery.