But you were not born a great lord." "No more was M.Porthos," murmured Planchet.
"But he has become so, my good fellow; his income has been a hundred thousand francs a year for the last twenty years, and for the last fifty years has been the owner of a couple of fists and a backbone, which are not to be matched throughout the whole realm of France.

Porthos is a man of the very greatest consequence compared to you, and ...

well, I need say no more, for I know you are an intelligent fellow." "No, no, monsieur, explain what you mean." "Look at your orchard, how stripped it is, how empty your larder, your bedstead broken, your cellar almost exhausted, look too ...

at Madame Truechen--" "Oh! my good gracious!" said Planchet.
"Madame Truechen is an excellent person," continued D'Artagnan, "but keep her for yourself, do you understand ?" and he slapped him on the shoulder.
Planchet at this moment perceived Porthos and Truechen sitting close together in an arbor: Truechen, with a grace and manner peculiarly Flemish, was making a pair of earrings for Porthos out of a double cherry, while Porthos was laughing as amorously as Samson did with Delilah.

Planchet pressed D'Artagnan's hand, and ran toward the arbor.
We must do Porthos the justice to say that he did not move as they approached, and very likely, he did not think he was doing any harm.