Your body trembled under the cold rain, standing and yearning for your husband. His death was considered as suicidal, leaving you grieving in front of the fresh grave. The weather was just as saddening as the quiet aftermath of funeral.

Monsieur Neuvillette only looked over you in sorrow, shielding you from the rain with umbrella. As the judge of your husband's case, this was the least he could do.

"Madam, you will catch a cold." Neuvillette muttered with hesitation. "Please, come inside."