Do not imagine one of those spacious, airy squares, such as you are familiar with in our day. What was called a square [place] in those days was often nothing more than the junction of two streets.
The houses which surrounded Place aux Chats bore no resemblance to one another. One had four stories, its next neighbor only two; but in all alike the heavy framework, the enormous beams, were visible, as it was not then thought worth while to cover them with plaster.
The roof of each of the houses hung over far beyond the gable end, thus diminishing the air and light; the windows were small, irregular, and loosely set, the panes of glass were tiny and dirty; the doors were low and narrow; the halls dark and begrimed with dirt; the staircases, which were gloomy, dirty, and slippery, had huge posts of stone or wood for rails; and there were absolutely no lights.
Let us not regret the disappearance of Place aux Chats.
Over the door of one of the tallest houses on this square, which stood opposite the Cemetery of the Innocents, there was a long, wide board, painted yellow, bearing these words written in red on the yellow background:
HÔTEL DU SANGLIER. FURNISHED LODGINGS FOR MAN, BUT NOT FOR BEAST
The Hôtel du Sanglier had three windows on the square; that was almost luxurious; and it boasted five stories, counting the attics nestled in the roof.
It was one of the largest houses on Place aux Chats; and although the sign stated that horses would not be entertained, it was no infrequent occurrence for a mounted man to stop and take up his quarters there; in such cases, his nag was taken to an ass keeper's, on the same square, who did not entertain horsemen, but was glad to take care of their beasts, and he almost always had tenants.
The Hôtel du Sanglier was kept by a widow, already past middle age, named Dame Cadichard. She was a short, fat woman, who had been rather piquant and alluring in her springtime and even during her summer; her great fault was that she was determined to be piquant and alluring still, and to forget that her hair was no longer black, her waist no longer slender, and her complexion no longer fresh. She still had the flashing glance, the merry laugh, and the sly jest; and from time to time she talked of remarrying, of giving the late Cadichard a successor. But at such times the neighbors of the Hôtel du Sanglier asked one another where the future spouse could be, for, among the guests of the house or the strangers who frequented it, no one ever had been observed to pay court to the Widow Cadichard.
Chaudoreille's godson had lived at the Hôtel du Sanglier for more than a year; he occupied a very modest little chamber under the eaves, above the fourth floor. His room was lighted only by a little round window looking on the square, which, however, he could not see on account of the overhanging roof; the window, moreover, was so small that only one person could possibly have looked out at one time.