TRUF. You have seen that son of mine, in whom all my hopes are centred?
LEL. Yes, Signor Trufaldin, and he was as well as well can be.
TRUF. He related to you his life and spoke much about me, did he not?
LEL. More than ten thousand times.
MASC. (_Aside to Lelio_). Not quite so much, I should say.
LEL. He described you just as I see you, your face, your gait.
TRUF. Is that possible? He has not seen me since he was seven years old.
And even his tutor, after so long a time, would scarcely know my face
again.
MASC. One's own flesh and blood never forget the image of one's
relations; this likeness is imprinted so deeply, that my father...
TRUF. Hold your tongue. Where was it you left him?
LEL. In Turkey, at Turin.
TRUF. Turin! but I thought that town was in Piedmont.
MASC. (_Aside_). Oh the dunce! (_To Trufaldin_). You do not
understand him; he means Tunis; it was in reality there he left your
son; but the Armenians always have a certain vicious pronunciation,
which seems very harsh to us; the reason of it is because in all their
words they change _nis_ into _rin_; and so, instead of saying
_Tunis_, they pronounce _Turin_.
TRUF. I ought to know this in order to understand him.
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