It was an old, old story; she had heard of such cases before but paid
little heed to them. Now it was Philippe, her brother, and oh! how
different it all seemed. It was simply the story of an ambitious young
man, making his way in the world, winning name and fame among the ablest
financiers of the Western city in which he had elected to live his
life. It was simply the story of one who had much and who wanted more,
who strained every nerve to win in the great game he was playing, the
game of money-getting. It was the story of one who risked all in one
grand final coup, who risked all and lost all. And what was risked and
lost was not his alone; everything belonging to his mother and sister
had gone too. Worse still, he had made use of money which was not
theirs, funds of the bank of which he was treasurer. Of course, he had
only borrowed them, he had been so sure of success, and he intended
replacing the money in a few days. He had reasoned as so many men before
him had reasoned, as men will continue to reason as long as this world
shall be.
Such had been the trial which faced Cecile that day two years ago. Her
one thought had been that mother must never know; her heart had always
been weak and the shock would kill her, simply kill her. Words her
mother had once spoken to her returned to her mind as she had finished
reading those letters.
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