The place Saint-Jean is at the centre of a long street called at the upper end the rue Grand Narette, and at the lower the rue Petite Narette.  The word “Narette” is used in Berry to express the same lay of the land as the Genoese word “salita” indicates,—­that is to say, a steep street.  The Grand Narette rises rapidly from the place Saint-Jean to the port Vilatte.  The house of old Monsieur Hochon is exactly opposite that of Jean-Jacques Rouget.  From the windows of the room where Madame Hochon usually sat, it was easy to see what went on at the Rouget household, and vice versa, when the curtains were drawn back or the doors were left open.  The Hochon house was like the Rouget house, and the two were doubtless built by the same architect.  Monsieur Hochon, formerly tax-collector at Selles in Berry, born, however, at Issoudun, had returned to his native place and married the sister of the sub-delegate, the gay Lousteau, exchanging his office at Selles for another of the same kind at Issoudun.  Having retired before 1787, he escaped the dangers of the Revolution, to whose principles, however, he firmly adhered, like all other “honest men” who howl with the winners.  Monsieur Hochon came honestly by the reputation of miser. but it would be mere repetition to sketch him here.  A single specimen of the avarice which made him famous will suffice to make you see Monsieur Hochon as he was.

At the wedding of his daughter, now dead, who married a Borniche, it was necessary to give a dinner to the Borniche family.  The bridegroom, who was heir to a large fortune, had suffered great mortification from having mismanaged his property, and still more because his father and mother refused to help him out.  The old people, who were living at the time of the marriage, were delighted to see Monsieur Hochon step in as guardian,—­for the purpose, of course, of making his daughter’s dowry secure.  On the day of the dinner, which was given to celebrate the signing of the marriage contract, the chief relations of the two families were assembled in the salon, the Hochons on one side, the Borniches on the other,—­all in their best clothes.  While the contract was being solemnly read aloud by young Heron, the notary, the cook came into the room and asked Monsieur Hochon for some twine to truss up the turkey,—­an essential feature of the repast.  The old man dove into the pocket of his surtout, pulled out an end of string which had evidently already served to tie up a parcel, and gave it to her; but before she could leave the room he called out, “Gritte, mind you give it back to me!” (Gritte is the abbreviation used in Berry for Marguerite.)