I curtly told him to come in. I was astonished by his visit: as a new tenant, with a rather wild nature, I had not exchanged three words with this man. What I knew of him was very vague: he was approximately sixty-five years old, a widower already for a while; he was supposed to be a real card. Some claimed he was a painter; others, a sculptor. I really didn't care one way or the other. My only concern was how to get rid of him.