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TRICOTRIN,
THE STORY OF A WAIF AND STRAY.
CHAPTER I.
THE equipage dashed off with her; and if conscience spoke, it could not be heard in the noise of the flashing, whirling, azure wheels that swept her down white roads and under green avenues through the gold and bronze gates of the actress's villa.
Coriolis could be generons, when to be so did not interfere with her own supreme selfishness. The rapt adoring face of the child had attracted her, and she had felt a fancy to see it closer. But beside these she had motives less innocent: one, on whom her own charms had palled, but whose contentment and patronage were essential to her,
