Between the cart wheels, half screened by rugs, burns a fire around which the family is preparing supper. In the open fields graze the horses, and behind the tents a tame bears lies free. In the heart of the desert all is movement with the preparations for the morning's march, with the songs of the women, the cries of the children, and the sound of the itinerant anvil. But soon upon the wandering band falls the silence of sleep, and the stillness of the desert is broken only by the barking of the dogs and the neighing of the horses.
The fires are everywhere extinguished, all is calm; the moon shines solitary in the sky, shedding its light over the silent camp.
In one of the tents is an old man who does not sleep, but remains seated by the embers, warming himself by their last glow. He gazes into the distant steppes, which are now wrapped in the mists of night. His youthful daughter has wandered into the distant plains. She is accustomed to her wild freedom; she will return. But night wears on, and the moon in the distant clouds is about to set. Zemphira tarries, and the old man's supper is getting cold. But here she comes, and, following on her footsteps, a youth, a stranger to the old gypsy.
"Father," says the maiden, "I bring a guest; I found him beyond the tombs in the steppes, and I have invited him to the camp for the night. He wishes to become a gypsy like us. He is a fugitive from the law. But I will be his companion. He is ready to follow wherever I lead."
The Old Gypsy: "I am glad. Stay in the shelter of our camp till morning, or longer it thou wilt. I am-ready to share with thee both bread and roof. Be one of us. Make trial of our life; of our wandering, poverty, and freedom. To-morrow, at daybreak, in one van, we will go together. Choose thy trade: forge iron, or sing songs, leading the bear from village to village."
Aleko: "I will remain."
Zemphira: "He is mine; who shall take him from me? But it is late.... the young moon has set, the fields are hidden in darkness, and sleep overpowers me."
Day breaks. The old man moves softly about the silent camp.
"Wake, Zemphira, the sun is rising; awake, my guest. 'Tis time, tis time! Leave, my children, the couch of slothfulness."