In the house in Chestnut-Tree Walk he found himself brought into touch with an altogether different world. It was a strange underground world, a world of decayed races, and lost causes, and fallen dynasties, and overthrown gods. Sometimes it seemed to him a world of pure make-believe, in which everything was pasteboard and tinsel, and at other times it seemed to him that there was a meaning hidden beneath the make-believe, that there was a strength in all this decay capable of assailing and overcoming in time the strength of the world of triumphant causes and conquering races; that from this concealed and stagnant source a power of corruption might arise, like the pestilence that issues from the slums of Canton or the pilgrim-ships of Mecca and devastates Asia and Europe. Alistair became a more and more frequent visitor to the house hidden behind the grimy chestnut-trees. Des Louvres was never a dull companion. He possessed a unique knowledge of contemporary European history, especially of that part of history which does not get into books, and which the underbred provincials who compile scholastic histories seem never to understand. His memory for royal genealogies was equal to that of a German Court Chamberlain. And he was not ignorant of British pedigrees either. On one occasion he surprised Stuart by asking him: “You are related to the Earls of Mar, are you not?” “My grandmother was an Erskine,” Alistair replied. “Why do you ask?” “Your ancestor headed the first Jacobite rising on behalf of James III,” said Des Louvres, with a significant glance. “It is sometimes called the Earl of Mar’s Rebellion,” responded Alistair. “But I don’t think my ancestor distinguished himself very much. He made his arrangements very badly, and quarrelled with the Pretender when he came over.” The other did not pursue the subject. But his remark had taken effect on Stuart’s mind. In addition to Des Louvres there were often other interesting figures to be met with at Chestnut-Tree House: Frenchmen fresh from the boulevards; Austrians and Spaniards with the latest gossip of their capitals; urbane Roman priests, affecting the diplomatist rather than the cleric, and anxious that the Duke of Trent’s brother should take an interest in the absorbing question of the Temporal Power. “There never was a more interesting State than the Pope’s,” Stuart was told. “It was government by the refined and intellectual class, the aristocracy of mind and birth combined. There was no public opinion, which, as you know, always means vulgar middle-class opinion. There was no Puritan inquisition; Garibaldi and his brigands made it their chief complaint against us that we did not persecute the sinner. Every man could do as he pleased, in short, provided that he did not openly assail the Church. Of course, no Sovereign can tolerate rebellion. For artists and poets, for all men of taste and originality, the Rome of the Popes was an almost perfect home.”