Grandet came back to the president and said,--

"Have you sold your vintage?"

"No, not I; I shall keep it. If the wine is good this year, it will be
better two years hence. The proprietors, you know, have made an
agreement to keep up the price; and this year the Belgians won't get
the better of us. Suppose they are sent off empty-handed for once,
faith! they'll come back."

"Yes, but let us mind what we are about," said Grandet in a tone which
made the president tremble.

"Is he driving some bargain?" thought Cruchot.

At this moment the knocker announced the des Grassins family, and
their arrival interrupted a conversation which had begun between
Madame Grandet and the abbe.

Madame des Grassins was one of those lively, plump little women, with
pink-and-white skins, who, thanks to the claustral calm of the
provinces and the habits of a virtuous life, keep their youth until
they are past forty. She was like the last rose of autumn,--pleasant
to the eye, though the petals have a certain frostiness, and their
perfume is slight. She dressed well, got her fashions from Paris, set
the tone to Saumur, and gave parties. Her husband, formerly a
quartermaster in the Imperial guard, who had been desperately wounded
at Austerlitz, and had since retired, still retained, in spite of his
respect for Grandet, the seeming frankness of an old soldier.