Zemphira: "My husband is jealous and angry. I must go!"
The Young Gypsy: "Once more.... a longer one.... at parting."
Zemphira: "Good-bye. Here he comes."
The Young Gypsy: "Tell me. When shall we meet again?"
Zemphira: "To-night, when the moon rises over the hill beyond the tombs."
The Young Gypsy: "She is deceiving me; she will not come."
Zemphira: "Run—there he is! I will be there, beloved!"
Aleko sleeps, and in his mind dim visions play. With a cry he wakes in the dark, and, stretching out his jealous arm, clutches with a startled hand the cold bed. His companion is far away..... Trembling he sits up and listens.... All is quiet! Fear comes upon him. He shivers, then grows hot. Rising from his bed, he leaves the tent, and, terribly pale, wanders round the vans. All is silent, the fields are still, and it is dark. The moon has risen in a mist, and the twinkling stars are scarcely seen. But on the dewy grass slight footprints can be discovered, leading to the tombs. With hurried tread he follows on the path made by the ill-omened footmarks.
In the distance, on the road side, a tomb shines white before him. Carried along by his hesitating feet, full of dread presentiment, his lips quivering, his knees trembling ... he proceeds ... when suddenly ... can it be a dream? Suddenly he perceives two shadows close together, and hears two voices whispering over the desecrated grave.