Few tourists climbed to their dark fastness, and of those who came none
had ever shone with such blinding radiance of white and gold.

It was certain that the lovely lady was none other than the Madonna
herself, and the child she had brought was some baby angel. The man
alone was mortal. He had perhaps been bidden to show la bella Madonna
the way to Éze.

Rosemary, shy but happy, began giving out the toys, diving with both
hands at once into the baskets which the fairy father held. Trumpets,
bags of marbles, tops and furry animals for the boys, according to their
age; (oh, Rosemary was a good judge, and never hesitated once!) Dolls
for the girls, dolls by the dozen, dolls by the legion; and sweets for
all.

As the amazed children received their gifts, they fell respectfully
back, as if they had received an order to give place to their
companions, and others came forward, open mouthed, large eyed, ready to
fall upon their knees if but one of their number should set an example.

Still there were toys left, toys in abundance; the wondrous benefactors
passed slowly on, always going up, up into the huddled village
streets--tunnelled in rock or arched with stone, where eager, astonished
faces peered from the mystery of shadowed doorways, and the hum of joy
and admiration swelled to a sound like the murmur of the sea.

Of grown folk there were not many. A few mothers with brown babies in
their arms; a few mumbling crones, and bent old men with faces like
strange masks; but the flow of children never ceased.