A while back, my wife and I spent a month in Paris. Before departing the U.S., I rented a flat advertised in a Parisian magazine. We arrived at DeGaulle airport and took a taxi to the apartment. Our landlady hailed us from the sixth floor balcony.

When we got up to the flat, we found a robust woman. I had corresponded with her during our rental arrangements, and she had even sent her picture, but now I could see that it was from an earlier time. While cordial, she had a compelling demeanor and a penetrating voice. She spoke excellent English, and delivered her points with clarity and vigor—and the first order of business was the apartment. She discussed it in excruciating detail, and provided complex instructions. They included removing every single drop of water from the bath tub with a mysterious po...

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